Lost and Found
by dmf1984
Summary: Locke finds a castaway on the beach.  Who is this young boy, and why does he seem so familiar to John Locke?
1. Chapter 1

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Rating: T

**Chapter 1/?**

**Arrival**

"Don't worry, Richard," said Locke as he put a length of nylon rope into his backpack. "I'll be back sometime in the middle of next week." He adjusted the knife that he wore at his waist, hanging from the right side of his belt.

The dark-haired younger (actually, much _older_) man smiled, his piercing eyes softening as he shook his head fondly at their recently arrived "man of faith". "I know how much you need your private time; it certainly took me a long while to reflect on all that had happened when I first came here… and on all that I thought I had lost." Richard Alpert sounded wistful at the indirect mention of his long-dead wife, Isabella, back home in another-century Spain.

John smiled, chuckling gently, gripping the other man's shoulder as his startling blue eyes sparkled with humor and enthusiasm. "And all that you have gained, Richard, all that you have gained. If you really need to reach me, it's fine, truly. I'll hike all day, rest and read when I get there, and explore the beach again. The winter storms probably rearranged much of the terrain anyway."

"I could send Deborah after you when she gets back from the outpost, in case you need…"

Locke held up a hand, indicating that he would not be dissuaded. "She and I said our goodbyes _very_ early this morning, thanks." Richard raised one questioning eyebrow, knowing that the oldest woman in their group was an effective healer, nurse, cook and apparently, lover. He had the grace not to blush when he thought of his teacher, and now his leader, making love as any other woman and man would.

Richard handed over a fist-sized packet of fresh herbs and aloe, which John tucked into a cargo pocket of his trousers next to his worn compass; Locke never used sunscreen but liked aloe for treating his skin when he did get too much of the tropical sun. "Thank you. I'll see you in about ten days."

And with that, he left the tiny yellow house and headed north across the island.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Locke had just resumed walking, getting up from a brief water break, as he stepped from the tree line and onto the powdery white strand. The onshore breezes cooled him, the sweat evaporating from his shirt, but he felt at peace as he saw the almost unbearably blue ocean. An unidentified tension left his body when he could finally see and smell the Pacific, and he sighed as the shorebirds rose and dove above the waves. He had always loved the ocean, even after crash landing in a passenger jet en route from Sydney, Australia to L.A. some eight years before. So much had happened on the Island since then.

"I wish you could see this place, Helen," he whispered, his eyes misting a bit as he remembered the woman to whom he'd proposed marriage, and subsequently lost, by his own foolish choices. "I'm sure you would be happy here with me."

He paused, letting the tears build up of their own accord and swim across his vision before he wiped them away.

"Helen, I miss you and I _still_ love you," he said aloud in a clear, strong voice, letting the wind carry his words to her, wherever she was. He wiped the moisture from his cheeks, unashamed that he could cry over losing her. It had, after all, been his own damned fault. Even now that Deborah was in his life, he would always carry a torch for Helen Norwood.

John gave a soft, rueful laugh as he shook his head at himself, cutting a hunk from the fresh mango he'd picked a few minutes ago. He ate the mango as he walked along the shore, appreciating its not-quite-ripe tartness and was seriously contemplating a swim in the ocean. It was not much further to his cabin, and he could rinse off in the freshwater spring right outside his doorstep.

He wasn't really seeing his familiar surroundings as he continued his walk on the beach, and nearly stumbled on a piece of driftwood when his mind processed the shape of a deflated life raft up ahead, beached and subtly rocking with the motion of the waves. Locke frowned when he saw the figure lying prostrate in the sand. It was a nearly naked child, and he could not tell from that distance if he was alive or not.

John gave an involuntary shout and felt his heart pounding as he ran the last few dozen yards, reaching the boy's side as the water tugged on the black rubber raft. He could just barely make out the name "Neptune Massif" painted in yellow letters. It looked like the child had attempted to drag the heavy craft further up the beach before collapsing with exhaustion. The rising tide fought hard against the drifted sand as it tried to reclaim its prize.

Locke winced in sympathy when he saw the seriously sunburned back and legs, but he set aside his backpack and gently turned the youngster over; for some reason, John noticed a row of black magic-marker lines on the inner left forearm, almost like a countdown of days. Relief washed over him when he heard a soft moan coming from the boy's painfully chapped lips. John brushed back reddish blonde hair from the child's face, noting in passing a bruise and small cut above one eyebrow. The injured boy's face was covered with sand, and his hair had dried to the texture and color of standing hay in a wind-swept prairie.

First aid training from what seemed like decades ago rushed to the forefront as Locke carefully examined the unconscious boy. There appeared to be no broken bones, just bruises and severe sunburn, especially across the back and shoulders. The boy was skinny and bare chested, wearing faded green swim trunks, crew socks that had once been white, and one tennis shoe. A rope from the dinghy was wrapped around his left ankle so John drew his hunting knife to cut it away. He couldn't find the other shoe as he gathered the boy up in his arms and stood, making his way to the nearest shade under a palm tree grove.

The boy mumbled incoherently as John laid him down in the cool, soft sand in the shade. In a few more minutes, John had both his and the boy's backpacks (the youngster's was water-logged but otherwise intact), and it took a bit of effort to drag the deflated life raft away from the pull of the Pacific Ocean.

Locke paused to get his bearings, realizing that he was no more than an hour's walk from his private cabin. He gingerly lifted the child's head, encouraging him to take tiny sips of water. Dehydration was a major concern but he didn't want to over do it and choke the unconscious boy in his efforts to save his life. John nodded once he'd made the decision to move on to the cabin, taking a swig of cool water for himself. It took some maneuvering at first, but he arranged both backpacks on his broad shoulders, and then stooped to cradle the injured boy in his arms.

The blistered sunburn felt unpleasantly hot even to his bare skin, and the boy mumbled again, this time clearly in painful protest as he tried to pull away when John picked him up.

"I know it hurts, buddy," said Locke quietly. "I'm sorry about that. We have a bit of a hike then I can see about some medicine for your back, alright? It won't be long, I promise."

Something in his calm, deep voice got through to the boy, and he settled down again, trusting Locke to carry him safely. John felt the boy relax against his chest and his heart inexplicably skipped a beat. There was something uncanny and familiar about this child in his arms.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The boy moaned loudly and Locke could see gooseflesh rising as he rinsed off in the small spring-fed pool right next to his cabin. As far as he knew, the child had remained unconscious the entire time; now, as John rinsed the salt and sand from his body, the freshwater was also cooling the angry red sunburn. Locke too was stripped down to his undershorts in the waist-deep water, washing away the sweat and grime of the day.

The boy's struggles grew more vigorous and he seemed to be waking up. "Wait, Papa, wait for me!" he called out hoarsely and in plain English, his eyelids fluttering open. "I won't go far, Papa!"

John squeezed out a cloth with his free hand, wiping the boy's face and cleaning the minor head wound; it wouldn't require much more treatment than that. He nearly dropped him back into the water when the child thrashed his legs.

"Easy, easy son," Locke told him firmly, raising his voice a bit. "We need to get you cleaned up and get some medicine on that burn. Take it easy now…"

The boy froze, heaving a shuddering sigh when he looked John right in the face. It was Locke's turn for surprise when he saw the impossibly sea-blue-green eyes staring blankly ahead, unfocussed; for a moment, he thought he saw Helen Norwood gazing back at him, and he forgot to breathe.

"Yes sir, okay," the boy responded, gritting his teeth and choking back tears; his voice seemed raspy from lack of use. "Please don't let it hurt…" Tears stained his cheeks as he passed out again.

John cradled him to his chest, and walked out of the pool, both of them dripping onto the soft grass that lined the path up to the cozy two-room cabin. "I've got you, boy. I know it hurts."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Locke sighed contentedly in his sleep when the soft rain started outside, pattering on the tin roof of the cabin. It was his favorite sleeping weather, and always had been. A few minutes later, he was snoring as he slipped into a deeper slumber. Two screened windows on opposite walls were propped halfway open, allowing a pleasant cross-breeze to push through. The gauzy curtains billowed and snapped in the wind, creating a ghostly pair of observers over the sleeping forms.

A muffled thud followed by a sound of pain brought him quickly to full wakefulness some time later, his trusty hunting knife gripped in one hand as he waited quietly for the sound again. John relaxed when he realized it was his injured houseguest, tripping in the unfamiliar darkness of the cabin's bedroom.

"Just a second, son," Locke said, putting the knife back in its sheath under his pillow. "Let me get a light on in here for you." He struck a match and soon the battered old kerosene lantern lit the room; there was no moonlight outside as it was the New Moon of the month.

"Yes, sir," replied the boy from just a few feet away. "Thank you." John rolled off of the futon, noting with a satisfied grunt that the boy was taller than he'd expected, even braced as he was against a heavy bookcase. He was obviously not steady on his land legs, holding onto the wooden shelf for support.

"It should be time for more aloe on your back," Locke offered helpfully, noting that the boy was looking around the room, somewhat disoriented and confused. John moved forward slowly, not wanting to startle him.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," said the boy, aware of the darkness outside. "I was looking for the bathroom."

Locke chuckled, impressed at the boy's pleasant manners as he grabbed the lantern's handle. "It's outdoor plumbing here, I'm afraid. Come on, I'll help you get to the porch… careful not to fall off!"

John was pleased to hear a slight laugh from the boy as he helped him shuffle out of the front door, and got him leaning against a post away from the steps. "I'll be over here," said Locke as he too urinated from the opposite end of the raised porch. "I bet this means your dehydration isn't as bad as I thought it was."

"No, you're probably right," said the boy, washing and drying his hands at the basin beside the front door. "I didn't pee much when I was on the raft."

By the time they got him back to his bed, and carefully applied another layer of the homemade aloe ointment on the boy's sunburned back and shoulders, the youngster was sound asleep. Locke thought the deep, steady sound of his breathing was even better than it had been on the shoreline. The older man stood for a few moments in the doorway of the bedroom, feeling protective, watching as the injured boy rested face down, his cheek burrowing down into the comforting pillow.

John had to laugh quietly when he realized that he still did not know the child's name.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Locke awoke from a vivid sexual dream, finding himself lying on his stomach… something which he very rarely did. As he shifted under the sheet, he also found himself fully aroused, and his head was full of memories of Helen. He groaned in frustration, muffling the noise with the pillow as he rolled over on his back and lay still, hoping things would subside on their own. It had been a very long time since he'd awoken in such a state and he fought down an urge to give himself release; it wouldn't do to have an eight-year-old walking in on him masturbating like a horny teenager.

He found a clean white t-shirt that he'd left on the back of the futon, and pulled on his trousers, thankful that his aching loins were now more bearable, and started thinking about breakfast for himself and his guest. Fastening his knife at his belt, he peeked in the bedroom, satisfied that the boy was still sleeping peacefully. His lobster-red sunburn was blistered, and would peel on his back and the backs of both legs, but it seemed that the herbs and aloe were helping the process along.

John had just served up two plates of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and pineapple juice, when he heard soft footfalls behind him. He turned and smiled at the sight of the boy, his hair shiny from exposure to sun and salt spray, and in total disarray, looking around the small kitchen. The boy seemed uncertain as to what he should do next.

Locke set both plates on the table, and stepped over with his hand outstretched. "Good morning, I'm John. John Locke."

The boy grinned as he shook hands firmly. "I'm David White. Pleased to meet you, sir." They both chuckled sheepishly at the humor of all that they'd likely been through, and only now introducing themselves. John helped David sit at the table, and he was strangely proud as the boy immediately pulled the napkin into his lap; _someone_ had obviously raised this child to have good table manners.

Even though he was probably unbearably hungry, David slowed down enough to sniff the plate appreciatively. "This smells really good, thank you." He took a tentative bite of the hot eggs, and chewed slowly.

John finished doctoring up his coffee at the rough kitchen counter and joined the boy at breakfast. "You're welcome. Eat up, Dave," he said, gesturing with his fork. "You've still got growing to do." Locke wasn't sure where that expression had come from; it just popped into his head.

David smiled, a little wistfully. "My grandfather used to always say that." He put his fork down and reached for his juice, draining it in a matter of seconds.

Locke nodded approval and pushed the pitcher closer to the boy. The youngster refilled his glass and drained that portion too.

"Thank you," he said around a small bite of fresh mango. "I think pineapple is my favorite of all; I'd eat it every day back home."

"Really? Where is 'back home' then?"

"Hawaii, er Oahu, I should say. We just moved to Honolulu from California," was the reply. The exotic names tripped off the boy's tongue as if he were a native, or simply had a gift for languages. Locke was recalculating his age estimate of the child, and was growing more and more intrigued.

"Such a beautiful place, isn't it? You and your family live in Hawaii now?" John inquired, curious about the boy's arrival to the Island.

David shook his head. "No, just my grandfather and me. After Nana died, he felt like getting back to Pearl something-something… he was a Colonel there back in the olden days, I think."

Locke raised an eyebrow at the youngster's innocent and comic turn of a phrase, blowing thoughtfully across his coffee mug. "Pearl Harbor. What about your mom and dad?"

The boy shrugged one shoulder, looking away for a moment. "I don't have a dad. Well, I _do_ I guess, technically, but I never met him and my mom died when I was a baby. Papa and Nana adopted me so I have their last name instead of my mom's."

He finished his plate and shook his head at John's silent offer of more food. Locke took both of their dishes to the sink basin, placing them in the sudsy water. He tried to keep his voice casual as his analytic mind started piecing bits of information together.

"It's hard to lose a mom… I know, I grew up in foster care but I did finally get to meet her when I was much older." _My dad too_, he thought with a twinge of painful memories, even now, the kidney transplant scar on the left side of his back tingled when he thought of Andrew Cooper, con man _extraordinaire_. "What was her name? If that's not too personal a question." John sat back down and took another sip of his coffee.

David smiled (a little sadly, John thought, which was understandable) as he carefully got up and fetched his salt-stained backpack hanging on a nearby doorknob to dry. "It's okay, sir, I don't mind. Her name was Helen," he replied in a soft voice, pulling a ziptop plastic bag from the front pocket and handling it as if it were his life's greatest treasure. "This is my mom and me; Papa took it in the hospital right when I was born. I'll be right back." The boy headed out the front door to the porch, steadying himself by gripping the arm of a chair, to take a leak over the side of the banister.

The picture of the new mother holding the infant David in her arms made Locke glad that he was seated; his knees turned to water and he felt like he'd just been kicked in the chest.

TBC?

A/N2: I've only just recently discovered the "Lost" series, having watched seasons 1-4 over the last few weeks (I know, I know, I am catching up as best I can!) For now, I totally love John Locke as played by Terry O'Quinn. Please R&R, thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Correction: I mis-read a transcript site when I wrote chapter 1. John Locke's biological father's name is _Anthony_ Cooper (not Andrew).

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 2/?**

**Family photos**

Locke sat staring at the photograph, and his hand shook when he finally turned it over to read the brief note on the back: "John David Norwood, DOB 05/06/05. 7 lbs, 8 ounces, 21 inches, Mom and baby healthy and well. New Nana and Papa very pleased!" The penmanship was clear, precise. Military even, in its block lettering.

He drew a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly as tears threatened to fall, several did anyway, wetting the creases of his mouth and the scruff of his beard. In the photo, Helen was smiling wearily at the camera, pulling down an edge of the blanket away from the baby's tiny chin and pursed lips. One of David's fists was tucked tightly to his cheek, and he wore an expression of intense concentration, even with his eyes barely open. Helen's wrist plainly showed the hospital identification bracelet (John could read the name of the hospital, Oceanside General), and she had a pulse-ox monitor clipped to one finger. The baby was swaddled securely in the white blanket with pink and blue pinstripes, and could not have been more than an hour old. John smiled down at the little bald head, reflexively rubbing his own as he rested his forehead in his palm, leaning over the photo.

He wanted to call out, he wanted to run to his son out on the front porch, he wanted to… _Oh no_, he thought. _I can't tell him anything_. And that realization broke his heart, all over again. Flashes of memories of sitting in a wheelchair, in a cemetery in Santa Monica, a plane crash… all rushed past. His mind raced, searching for solutions. Anything. He tried to stand but his knees were still weak.

John knew that David would be coming back inside any second now, and that he really had to pull himself together. _I'm his father. I'm David's father. Oh Helen, I am so sorry I hurt you_._ I wish I had known; I wish you had told me you were pregnant. I would have never gone to Australia, I should have never left you. I wish…_

He allowed himself ten more seconds, and his knuckles grew white where he gripped the table. Locke took a deep breath as he gained control of his emotions, and just in the nick of time, had the photo back on the tabletop and he was standing at the kitchen sink, up to his elbows in hot, soapy water. He heard David padding back inside in his bare feet, followed by the soft scrape of a chair being pulled out from under the table. John surreptitiously wiped tears from both sides of his face on the sleeves of his t-shirt.

"Is everything okay, David?" Locke managed to keep his voice from breaking, trying to sound casual in the onslaught of what he'd just seen and learned and felt.

The boy nodded tiredly as he sat at the rough-hewn table. "Yes, sir, I'm good. Just really tired. I don't know why I'm so dizzy again all of a sudden; it still feels like I'm on the raft."

David tucked the photograph back into the ziptop bag, sealed it and returned it to his knapsack. He frowned a little when he pulled several waterlogged items from the main section of the backpack, setting them aside to dry out: a notebook; a school bag of pencils, pens and crayons; a small ziptop bag of plastic figures; and, one or two other items.

"That's understandable… son," said Locke, looking back over his shoulder as he washed their breakfast dishes. "After the ordeal, I mean. How long were you out there?" For some reason he was unable to explain to himself, John wasn't ready to ask the "why" part just yet as in: _John_ _David Norwood, why in the world were you out by yourself in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?_

David held up his left arm so that John could see the small, parallel black lines drawn in black magic-marker. The boy's lips moved as he silently counted them. "This is fif… no, sixteen days." He hadn't learned yet to use four marks with a diagonal slash as the fifth one.

John raised his eyebrows, rather astonished. He switched on the hot water to rinse the plates and utensils in the left side of the sink, before moving them to the wooden drying rack. "_Sixteen_ is a lot, kiddo."

The boy shrugged dismissively. "That was just when I lost my Sharpie marker in a bad storm; I think it was another five or six after that." David suppressed a yawn and flinched a bit as his back touched the back of the chair. "I don't remember much after the storm, other than trying to count sunrises. At least I wasn't seasick anymore. That was gross."

Both of them were quiet for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts. For his part, Locke was impressed and more than a little proud of his son. He didn't understand how the boy had arrived on the Island, but paternal pride gave him a very warm feeling. A memory of Anthony Cooper's sneering face came to mind, and John swore then and there that he would be a better father to this boy than his own had been to him. As far as he was concerned, David would be _wanted_ for as long as he desired; Cooper's words still stung. _John, you're not wanted so don't come back_. _Ever_.

Locke finished the dishes and turned, wiping his hands on a clean towel. "Your mother was a very beautiful woman," he commented, trusting himself to only speak about Helen indirectly, for the moment anyway. "Thank you for showing me the picture."

David nodded, smiling a little at the compliment as he chewed the inside of his bottom lip. "I've always thought so, thanks. I just wish I had gotten to know her better, even for a little while." _I wish I knew what she sounded like_, thought David. He yawned again, looking out the nearby window into the jungle; the cabin was built just inside of a small clearing. John watched the boy as he watched… nothing, absently rubbing the black magic marker lines on the inside of his forearm.

The older man checked outside to see the mid-morning shadows from the sun and came over to the table, holding out his hand to the boy to help him up. "You've had a rough time, son… David. It's okay with me if you want to go back to bed."

David looked up at Locke, a puzzled expression flickering across his eyes, and then it was gone. The boy grinned shyly as he stood to lean with the older man's support, covering a grimace of pain when he moved his shoulder. "You're right. I'm sorry I keep falling asleep on you, John. You must think I'm a terrible house-guest."

Locke chuckled, enjoying his son's sense of humor as it reminded him even more of Helen. He remembered how much he loved her smile and her laugh, and how well she could get him to laugh at himself; with their son standing beside him, he understood how much he really missed her. "No need to apologize, pal. Let me help you and I'll get the aloe for your back."

-/-/-/-/-/-

John stretched out on the futon now that it was back in its folded position, fully intending to read; he'd even taken off his boots and socks to get more comfortable. The book he'd selected from the shelf nearby was lying open across his chest, and whatever it was, completely failed to hold his attention, so he laced his arms behind his head and let his mind wander.

He thought back to the first time he'd actually spoken to Helen Norwood, at an Anger-Management group therapy session in Los Angeles…

"_Probably just as well," she said, walking up behind him as he broke a cigarette trying to light it. "If you get kidney cancer, you've only got one left."_

_Locke glanced over sharply, reading her face to see if she was mocking him, and he was fully ready to be defensive. No, she wasn't. The glimmer in her eye was humor, and more than a little bit of attraction. He chuckled, surprised and shyly pleased as his heart started to beat normally again. John had gotten so used to being defensive, especially at work, that it was exhausting to appear so outwardly calm all the time._

"_That's funny," he replied, putting the lighter back in his pocket and tossing the torn cigarette toward the nearby trashcan. "I'm sorry I ruined your meeting. I was_ _just_…" _Not five minutes before, he'd berated someone named Francine for whining about the thirty dollars her mother had taken from her purse. It seemed so small, so inconsequential compared to a stolen kidney._

"_Oh, hell," she told him, shaking back her thick auburn hair, pushing it behind one ear with her long, delicate fingers; no wedding ring. "You just said everything I've always wanted to say in there. Most of the time…"_

"_Why don't you?" Her full lips and cheekbones were tremendously attractive, almost exotic._

_The woman sighed, looking away and shaking her head. She gave a soft sardonic laugh, mostly at herself. "Oh no, not a good idea for this girl. Once I get all hot and bothered, there's no stopping me. So I guess you won't be coming back next week?"_

_John raised both eyebrows, certain that he was imagining her innuendo just then. "Uh, no. Not likely."_

_The woman pouted prettily, and Locke found himself tumbling toward her, metaphorically speaking. "Hmm, that's too bad. I like bald guys."_

_John was taken aback, intrigued and a bit intimidated by the way she flirted with him, but he could not stop watching her lips. "I'm not bald," he stammered, helpless. This was a new experience for him, and he thought he rather liked it._

_Her teasing smile swept him off his feet, and he couldn't help but smile back. "I can wait. I'm Helen, by the way." She held out her hand and he took it. Her skin was so warm and so soft…_

_Yeah, his feet were no longer touching that grubby sidewalk. "Hi Helen. I'm John."_

It started to rain outside, the patters of raindrops beating a soft tattoo on the roof. Locke got up and eased around the bedroom door, checking in on his sleeping son. David was curled in a ball, lying on his right side, and his hair was clinging to the pillow, some of it rising with static electricity. He was mumbling again and Locke was unable to make out any of the words clearly. What he did recognize was that the color of David's hair was somewhere between his own dark strawberry blonde (well, back when he had hair) and Helen's deep auburn, and it made his heart skip a beat.

John saw the boy shiver a bit, pulling his slender body into a tighter ball in the middle of the bed; he mumbled again and his eyes were moving rapidly under the closed eyelids, deep in a dream. A soft cotton blanket was folded neatly over the back of a nearby chair; after he'd gently tucked it around the sleeping child, taking care not to scratch his sunburned back and shoulders, John allowed himself one very brief touch, brushing back a shiny lock of red-gold hair from the boy's forehead.

"I'll watch out for you, David, I promise," he whispered. "I'll be a good dad for you."

Locke straightened and quietly left the bedroom. As he stretched out again on the futon-couch, he nodded to himself, pleased with the decision. _Even if I can't explain everything on this Island_, he thought, _I will be a good dad for you_.

-/-/-/-/-/-

John woke with a start, taking in his surroundings but not really seeing them as he rubbed his eyes and head. His dream had been far more real this time: he was in Helen's apartment, in her bed actually, on the night that she'd given him a key. It had been their "six month anniversary" as they celebrated first at a nice restaurant, and then continued back at her place.

Helen had given him an ultimatum of sorts that night at dinner, that he stop parking outside of Cooper's house, and that when he slept with her, he couldn't leave in the middle of the night. Locke sighed heavily now, realizing the idiocy of those decisions he'd made. It had been more than eight years, and he could still remember the taste of her skin, and the light floral smell of her hair.

_Plumeria_, _that's what it was_. John had no idea why that name came to him.

She had promised to help him, to care for him, and he'd been so afraid of letting go, that he couldn't… at least in the long run. In the short term, back then in her little apartment, he'd made love to her with an intensity that he'd never had before. Soon after, he'd proposed to her on bended knee, and with much regret, Helen had sent him away. He was still desperately choosing a phantom, Cooper's love and acceptance, over her.

John was now certain that she had been pregnant with David when he went to Australia.

"For a guy who's supposed to be so smart," he said to himself as he sat up to put on his socks and boots. "_That_ was the dumbest move of all, Johnny boy."

Locke shook his head as he stood, adjusting the knife at his belt. The sun's shadows were short; it was early afternoon when he checked in on the still slumbering David. He had time to fish at the shoreline, and would be back in time to prepare dinner for himself and his son.

John smiled to himself as he found an old packet of stationery on the bookshelf, digging out a nub of a pencil from another shelf to leave a note for the boy. "Gone fishing for our dinner. Back soon, JL."

He meant only to leave the note on the bedside table where David was sure to find it, but something rooted him to the spot yet again as he watched his son, angelic in his sleep. Locke couldn't help himself and he tenderly pulled the blanket back up to David's neck; the boy had kicked part of it off, and one foot stuck out by the edge of the bed.

Locke chuckled fondly, recalling what Helen had once said about his long legs in their shared bed, and his heart felt light as he hefted his backpack to one shoulder and left the cabin for the hour's walk to the beach.

A faint breeze lifted the gauzy curtain from the bedroom window and a scent of tropical flowers filled the room.

David sighed in his sleep, smiling.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 3/?**

**Small fry**

Locke rounded a slight curve in the path and saw David sitting on a boulder beside the freshwater pond at the cabin, dangling his legs in the cool water. The afternoon sunshine was warm and it probably didn't hurt the boy to get back to fairly normal daily activities. Locke made a mental note to find some clean shorts and shirts for David to wear; they'd likely be too big on him, but would suffice until they could get back to the D.I. compound. Deborah usually had a supply of adult and children's clothes that she found washed up on the beach or made from scraps of cloth and her own designs.

David stood with a smile and a wave, which John was happy to return. His backpack was heavily laden with fresh mangoes from one of his favorite trees in the jungle and the stringer he carried had five medium-sized vermillion snapper.

"Hi, David. Did you get my note?" Locke asked as he started emptying his backpack at the chest-high worktable he'd recently built. He was sweating from the hour-long hike, and drank deeply from a water bottle that he kept cooling in the spring-fed pool.

"Yes, sir. I did," the boy replied immediately, observing with interest as Locke lined up five orange-colored fish and half-dozen mangoes. "Wow, John, you caught all of these so fast! Can I go fishing with you next time?"

John chuckled, looking down at his son's earnest face. "Yeah, sure partner. It's not far to bring our catch back here, or we could even grill out on the beach if you want."

"Awesome. I'd like that a lot," said David. He moved the mangoes to the palm frond basket that Locke slid over in his direction.

Chatting while he worked on cleaning the fish, John nodded approvingly as David scooted a rough-cut high stool over so he could sit nearer the table. "How are you feeling? You were sleeping so soundly when I left; that's why I didn't wake you, by the way."

"Much better, I think. I'm not dizzy anymore, just super hungry." As if to emphasize what he'd said, David's stomach growled loudly just then.

Locke grinned at the boy and pointed with his knife to a bunch of very tiny bananas at the corner of the table. "I'll take that as a very good sign, young man."

David ate two bananas; obviously enjoying them while the other cleaned and filleted the five fresh fish. John noticed that the boy was attentive to everything he was doing, willing to help by passing over a second woven basket that was lined with banana leaves even before he asked for it. Locke felt proud in a way he'd never in his life felt before. It also seemed that David was in a mood to talk about himself and his family.

"I had a really good nap, too," David continued, handing him a few more of the clean banana leaves. "I was dreaming about my mom, back in California. Nana once said she wore pink a lot. She was walking outside of my old school by the playground, wearing a pink long shirt. I've had this dream before; Nana said she was coming to try to talk to me in my sleep, to check on me and see how I was doing."

Locke nodded, silently thanking Mary White for her gentle wisdom and appreciating that David was comfortable talking with him. _Me too_, he thought, recalling his recent dreams. _I was dreaming_ _about Helen_.

"I'm glad you are feeling better. Here, you can help cook dinner; I wanna see what kind of a chef you are, kiddo." David hopped up from his seat with such alacrity that John had to smile again.

"It should be a nice evening to cook outside," John explained as he lined the nearby fire pit with coconut husks, followed by larger pieces of wood in a teepee shape. Working side by side, the two of them soon had a large fire blazing; in time, it would burn down to leave perfect cooking coals for grilling the fish.

-/-/-/-/-/-

David had found a hunk of a banyan tree log that he rolled closer to use as a seat near the cooking fire. He nibbled on a wedge of freshly cut mango as he poked at the coals with a long stick. Their snapper fillets were marinating while a pot of rice boiled in the well-used iron vessel. Locke stirred the rice with a long-handled cooking spoon, and then carefully replaced the lid, using a folded bandana to protect his hand from the heat.

"I probably should have already asked if there was anything you didn't eat, David," Locke wondered aloud, wiping his sweaty brow on his sleeve. He too had wrangled over a log to use as a seat by the fire.

The boy swallowed and paused for several moments, thinking. "Raisins taste kind of weird," he finally replied, making a face. "But I guess the chocolate covered ones are okay; I got those at the movies once."

John laughed since that wasn't at all the answer he'd expected (and it had taken David so long to come up with something he _wouldn't_ eat). "Really? Me too, I suppose. How about onions?"

David shook his head. "Not raw, but cooked is okay for like spaghetti, or meatloaf and stuff." Locke laughed aloud; inwardly, he was more than a little amazed at these two odd food dislikes that he shared with his son.

"I'll remember that, buddy. Go ahead, you can put the fish on the fire," he said, handing a fillet to the boy. "Fish and rice might be one of my favorite meals of all time, breakfast, lunch or dinner."

"Back home in um, Honolulu, Papa and I would go out and get loco moco every Saturday after swim practice," said David, concentrating on placing the fish carefully onto the heated cast iron griddle, skin side down. The marinade was simple: sea salt and a little mango nectar, and the fillets sizzled where they landed.

They were quiet for several minutes, paying close attention to the fish as it cooked quickly, not wanting to burn their supper.

John raised one eyebrow, teasing. "_Loco_ _moco_ sounds a little crazy to me."

David giggled. "No, you'd like it, trust me… even if it looks totally gross. It's rice and hamburger, and then this gravy all over the whole thing with a cooked egg on top. I like scrambled eggs, but Papa gets over-medium." He paused, watching as Locke flipped one piece of fish with the spatula, and then passed over the utensil for him to finish. "We found a place that made tacky-something pork; it was really good. I'm not saying that right but it starts with a 't'."

Locke shrugged. "Teriyaki, maybe?" He nudged David gently with his shoulder, teasing the boy again. "Although I think _tacky_-_something_ sounds more interesting."

"Tacky-something pork loco moco? We'd be the only two guys on Oahu who would order it. Oh, and there was also this Korean bar-b-cue place with this awesome stuff called bibim bap in a gigantic bowl; we were the only non-Asians in there most of the time but they were really nice."

"Honolulu sounds like a wonderful place to try restaurants. It's almost…"

John looked up at a rumble from the clouds overhead, moving quickly to grab the larger of the two woven baskets (they had lined it with fresh banana leaves, discarding the leaves that had nested the raw snapper fillets) and remove the fish from the cast iron griddle. "Rain coming, pal. Here, you carry the fish and I'll get the rice and fruit."

Not ten seconds later, as they both stomped up on the front porch of the cabin, the skies opened up with a heavy rain shower. For some reason that neither could explain, they stared at each other for about three heartbeats before laughing like mad men.

"We did it, Dave," said Locke. He set aside the mangoes and held the door open for David whose hands were full with the cooked fish.

"Yes, sir," David replied immediately, a broad grin splitting his face. At that very moment, John was struck with the image of hunting and fishing with his own father. Of course, those happy times were all _before_ Cooper conned him into donating his left kidney. He shook his head at the unbelievable irony of it all.

-/-/-/-/-/-

David shook the cup and rolled the pair of tan dice. As he moved a piece, Locke snapped his fingers. "There you go, that's how you can block me from getting over onto that side. See?"

"Yep. This game has a lot of math in it. Kinda sneaky, John, if you ask me." The boy retrieved his dice and watched as the older man made his next move. Other than books, the only game in the cabin was a well-worn backgammon set.

David tucked his chin on one arm, tilting his head to the side. He chewed thoughtfully on the drawstring of the blue hooded sweatshirt Locke had given him to wear.

"John, can I ask you something?" he said as he shook the dice cup again.

Locke stretched his legs out to the side of the low table as they both sat on the floor, leaning back on the heavy futon. He felt comfortably full and relaxed after their hearty dinner. "Anything. Shoot."

The boy reached up to push his hair out of his face, making a small noise of irritation. "I don't know if your knife would work, but do you have scissors or clippers or something… I really need a haircut. This is bugging me."

John chuckled. "Not out here, I keep things like that back at my house."

David abruptly sat up. "I thought _this_ was your house."

Locke shook his head, collecting his dice from the playing board. He'd moved two more pieces home. "Mm, no, this is just my cabin, a retreat I guess you'd call it. I have a house on the other side of the Island, actually most of us do."

"Whoa! There are more people?" David seemed surprised, and pleased at the prospect.

"M-hm, about twenty or so. We'll get over there in a few days, when you get back up to full steam. It's gonna take us all day to hike to the compound."

David was smiling broadly, very interested now. "That sounds… are there kids? And a school or something?"

"Not too many kids, I'm sorry to say," John replied, thinking of the broken down playground sets which the Dharma Initiative had installed some thirty or more years before. "You'll the youngest by far. How old are you?"

"I'll be seven in May."

"Okay then. There's Zach, and he's about thirteen or fourteen, and Emma is almost eighteen, I think," Locke continued, mentally calculating, and already planning a surprise birthday party for the boy, three months ahead of time.

"Oh, I guess that's cool," said David, sounding slightly disappointed that there was no one closer to his own age. He shrugged, and it was as if his disappointment was sloughed completely away. "I still want to meet them. Do you have a teacher, and a doctor, or somebody like that?"

"My good friend Deborah is a healer, so I reckon that's the closest thing to a doctor we have," John replied, interested in this line of questions from his son. "She's very skilled; I think you'll like to meet her."

David was quiet again, rolling the dice and studying the board for his next move. Locke noticed that he shifted his shoulders inside of the shirt, probably itchy from his healing sunburn.

"Are you ready for more of the aloe? It was she who made it for me," Locke offered as he collected his dice and moved two more pieces off of the board. He was winning this round, but David was a quick learner. John wanted to remember later to ask the boy about chess or other games.

David smiled, gingerly rubbing his shoulder under the shirt. "I probably should; I feel like I'm peeling like a snake." John chuckled, once again charmed by his son's sense of humor. As David rolled his dice again, he had no valid moves on the board. A few seconds later, both of them stifled big yawns.

"I think brush teeth and hit the racks," John commented. "For you and me, kid." Locke no longer wore a watch on the Island, having lost his years ago, but it felt late in the evening. He enjoyed the night sounds coming in from the open windows.

The boy got to his feet and padded over to where his now mostly-dry backpack was hanging from a peg. He rummaged around in the front pocket, pulling out his toothbrush. For some reason, he looked down to the floor and saw his lonely tennis shoe with a pair of grubby socks lying next to it.

"John, this may sound strange, but did you find my other shoe?"

Locke chuckled as he put the handle of his toothbrush in his mouth, quickly zipping a pouch on his knapsack closed with both hands. "Sorry, I didn't," he said around the plastic. "We can look on the beach tomorrow if you feel up to it."

David's eyes lit up. "Yes! And go fishing?"

TBC?


	4. Chapter 4

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 4/?**

**Home sweet home**

For the rest of the week at the cabin, John and David fell into a routine: breakfast; cleaning up the kitchen; morning hike (sometimes all the way out to the shoreline); lunch if they got hungry; relaxing in the afternoon to stay out of the heat of the day; dinner; backgammon; and, talking story until they were ready to go to sleep. It didn't take long at all for Locke to learn that his son was an excellent swimmer, sometimes more at home in the water than on land. David found two-thirds of a broken surfboard washed up on the beach and spent the better part of three of their trips to the coast body surfing through the crashing waves. It was the front two-thirds of an old yellow Maui Nix surfboard, which meant no tailfins, and this suited the boy just fine.

"You're like a little tropical fish, David," John observed when the boy came up to the shade to rest; he'd spent the last solid hour in the ocean and now his chin dripped sea water down his chest. "When did you learn how to swim so well?"

David eased the surfboard-now-boogie board to the sand, and grabbed his water bottle before he sat down. "I'm not sure. I think I started lessons at the Y that summer right after my mom died." He paused to drink from the plastic liter bottle that Locke insisted he keep with him. David dug his toes in the sand, looking over John's left arm at the walking stick he was carving.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we were still in California, um Oceanside. What are you making?"

Locke smiled, holding up the end of the nearly straightened staff. "I just felt like crafting something today… that's supposed to be a sea turtle right there."

"Cool, it sure looks like a tiny one to me," said David. He reached back and rubbed water off of his left shoulder. "Am I still peeling from my sunburn?"

"Hardly at all," John replied, looking at the slender child's tanned and rather bony back; a twinge of paternal worry followed but he knew that healthy food and plenty of rest would be very good for the boy. "You getting hungry yet? I think the boar meat will be good to go tonight since it's been seasoning for two days."

"Yes, sir," David agreed, shrugging into a long-sleeved t-shirt. "What does boar meat taste like? I don't think I've ever had it before."

Locke cleaned his knife off by running it carefully down his trouser leg and then returned it to the sheath he kept on his belt. "Do you like pork chops, or maybe pork roast is a better example? It's like that only more gamey, I guess is the best way to describe it."

"Oh, okay. I _have_ eaten that; it was pretty good." David rolled over on his stomach and propped his fist on his cheek. "So what else did you do, John? Your jobs before here on the Island, I mean." Locke chuckled since it seemed that the boy was continuing the conversation right where they'd paused before he went surfing again.

"Well, this other company I was with made industrial cardboard, like cardboard boxes," he said, unintentionally recalling his inconsiderate idiot of a boss, Randy Nations. "And I worked in the main office, mostly a desk job; collections and things like that, up on their third floor."

David grimaced a little. "The home inspection job sounded more interesting; at least you got to go outside a lot with that one. I wouldn't like being at an office where I'd have to stay indoors all day."

John shrugged, giving the boy a conspiratorial wink. "True, but boxes are big business, kiddo. You'd be surprised how big." He chuckled, all the while thinking to himself… _And I wasn't in a wheelchair back then, either_.

The boy held up some of his reddish-gold hair from his forehead. At David's (polite) insistence, Locke had made rough cut that morning with his hunting knife, hoping that Deborah, Cindy or one of the others back at the compound could tidy it up the haircut when they got there in the next day or so. "You could be a barber, or maybe even a teacher."

Locke shook his head, raising his eyebrows toward his own tanned scalp; he smiled when he realized that David was teasing him. "Not too many bald barbers, are there?" David snickered, taking another swallow from his water bottle. "But a teacher, huh?"

"Sure, why not? You're teaching me all kinds of neat stuff already, like backgammon, cooking, making a fire and fishing," David replied, ticking off items with his fingers. "I'm not sure I'll get the hang of knife throwing, though. That's hard."

"It just takes practice, Dave," John assured him, pleased by the show of support from his young son, even if the boy didn't know it. "Give yourself time." He wiped his hands on his pants leg, setting the carving off to one side. "Are you ready to saddle up and head back?"

David hopped to his feet, brushing the loose sand from his knees and shirtsleeves. "Yes, sir." He picked up the broken fiberglass surfboard and slid it under some nearby shrubs for safekeeping at the beach, then shouldered his backpack. Maintaining his balance, he tucked his bare feet into the mismatched pair of sneakers: one was his dirty white one, while the other was a faded blue-gray.

Locke laughed quietly. "We'll have to keep hunting around for a pair of boots or something for you to wear. Things wash up here all the time from the cargo ships," he said, gesturing out towards the Pacific Ocean.

David let out a giggle, gathering up the rather large fresh coconut he'd collected that day at the beach. "No rush. I bet there's another pair of kicks just like this one out on the ocean somewhere, and another guy _totally_ wishing he had this blue shoe."

John ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Funny kid." He shouldered his own backpack and took up the walking stick he'd been working on. "After you, young sir."

As the pair faded into the jungle on their way back to John Locke's cabin, an unseen watcher on the hillside above gave a nod and smiled, pleased to see the closeness that was growing between father and son. The man seemed young, but in truth, he had been on the Island for more than two thousand years, born to a shipwrecked mother who later died. _Good_, he thought, a youthful and happy image of his fraternal twin brother in his mind. _We all need them both here_." The happy memories that he and his brother shared were no more, gone for many centuries.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Three paces ahead of him on the muddy path, David stumbled on a tree root, just barely catching his footing before he fell. Mentally chiding himself, John suggested that they stop for a rest. They had been hiking through the jungle all day, leaving his cabin just after breakfast that morning. The trail had begun to rise and the man knew the hike across the hilly meadow would be challenging near sunset, especially if they were tired and inattentive.

"Let's pull over here for a bit, Dave," Locke said, shrugging off his backpack. "No need to rush around and get hurt. We'll get home just after dark."

David smiled a bit wearily as he, too, removed his backpack and sat on a nearby moss-covered rock. "Okay. How big is the Island anyway, John? You weren't kidding when you said it would take us all day." He pulled his smaller water bottle from the side pocket and drank thirstily. His hair was matted down with sweat and humidity, and one cheek had a smear of mud across it.

Locke sat on a thick log on the ground, with his open knapsack between his legs. He pulled a bunch of bananas from it, passing a few to the boy to eat. "Size-wise, I'm not sure since I don't think it's been accurately mapped. It is pretty big though, tropical rain forest obviously, and I think it once had some active volcanoes… but that was a _really_ long time ago. The houses are down on the southern end, but there are little camps scattered around that some of us visit from time to time."

The boy drank deeply again from his water bottle, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of roasted boar meat that they had saved from their dinner the night before. "Like your cabin? Did you build it?" He finished two of the bananas, tossing their peels into the underbrush and leaned back against the tree trunk right behind him, heaving a contented sigh.

"Mm, no not me, but I added to it… and fixed it up a bit when I got here." For some reason, John thought of the people who had come with the Dharma Initiative; they had constructed many things, including their research stations on the Island when they arrived, but then, so had the other inhabitants over the course of centuries.

"It was a bit of a fixer-upper project when I…" Locke's voice trailed off when he noticed that David had fallen peacefully asleep at the base of the tree. His arms were crossed on his chest, his breathing deep and even. John chuckled softly. "Good idea, son." Still chuckling, he moved his backpack behind his head to use as a pillow, and stretched out on the jungle floor for a short catnap.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Was that a volcano over there? It looks exactly like Hawaii, or at least part of Diamond Head or Koko Head or one of those places on Oahu," the boy commented, reaching his arm across Locke's broad shoulder.

"Hm, which one do you mean?" John looked to where David was pointing, up ahead of them. The grassy hillside had a beautiful panoramic view of a line of rocky cliffs, some of them covered with thick greenery that tumbled down toward the ocean.

"Could be. There is a rocky beach way over on the other side covered with old lava flows," John replied, glancing around at the child on his back. "We'll hike over there sometime if you like."

"Yes, that would be neat," said David. "I like volcanoes almost as much as I like the ocean." He was riding piggyback on the tall man; John had shifted his own knapsack around to his chest to make room for his young passenger.

It made for a heartwarming scene: David still wore his backpack and Locke still carried his newly carved walking stick. With John carrying the boy, it left David's hands free to point and ask as many questions as he could think of. Even though his legs and back ached from the long walk across the Island, Locke was happier than he'd ever known he could be. Many times growing up in foster care in California, he had seen dads carrying their children at school or at the playground, and he couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. John could not see David's face, but he could tell from the tone of his voice that he was enjoying the ride too.

He walked for another half mile or so before he stopped to let David down. "Okay, keep your eyes peeled to the west," John instructed, gesturing to their right with a water bottle in his hand; he shifted his backpack around and tightened the chest strap to be more comfortable. The sun was just beginning to set and they had about another hour or so of daylight.

David grinned and his eyes glowed with reflected sunlight. "Yes, sir. What is it?" He knelt to re-tie one shoe, and closed the zipper of his backpack where it had come undone on the coconut husk.

John handed the boy an unlit torch, keeping one for himself. "You keep looking. It'll be a neat surprise," he answered, smiling. "We'll light these in a bit, alright? I don't want to ruin your night vision just yet."

The boy nodded, bringing his hand to his forehead as he shaded his eyes. They walked another five minutes and came to the crest of the grassy hill. As long as he'd been on the Island, it was a sight Locke never grew tired of.

"Houses!" David exclaimed, beaming up at the older man. "I see yellow houses, John!"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 5/?**

**Please leave a light on for me**

The hike down the final hill was in near total darkness, but the torches they carried provided more than enough light to guide their walk. John took the lead, cautioning David to watch carefully where he put his feet lest he trip over a rock, a log or a root. The boy obeyed without hesitation, following along about six or eight feet behind, and he was smiling from ear to ear at the prospect of meeting more people on the Island.

"Good job, kiddo," said Locke, turning to look over his shoulder as the path leveled off and they made their way onto the central paved "sidewalk" of the D.I. compound. "Not far at all now."

David grinned up at the older man, keeping his lit torch well off to the side as John had shown him so he wouldn't get burned with it. "No, sir. Which house is yours, John?" Locke pointed just up ahead of them and David could make out a tidy white picket fence to the right side.

John waved a greeting to a couple over to the left, seated on their front porch and enjoying the evening air. The man and woman smiled and waved back; another three young men stepped off the path to let them pass, nodding and murmuring pleasant greetings to their leader. David watched curiously, waving shyly back to a young blonde woman observing them as they passed her open kitchen window. She smiled and waved her dishtowel, pausing momentarily from her after-dinner washing up.

Locke climbed the two short steps leading up to the front door of the second yellow house on their right, stomping his muddy boots on the woven mat. "Here we are," he said, turning the doorknob and letting the door ease open. "Welcome to my home, David."

The boy laughed, delighted and was about to cross the threshold when he saw the clean rug lying just inside the door. He froze, grinning up at John, and stepped back to ease the muddy sneakers from his feet, toeing off one shoe and then the other. "Sorry, John. I almost messed up your floor," David said, looking sheepish as he stood there in his dingy socks.

John chuckled, giving the boy a wink. "Thanks, partner. I usually get in _big_ trouble with my beautiful gal for things like that." David looked puzzled at this reaction from the older man and was about to ask when they were both greeted by a short, plump woman who pulled the door wide fully ajar.

"Welcome home," she greeted, beaming at Locke, who leaned down to kiss her. The woman smiled at David, who as only a little bit shorter than she, and her light brown eyes sparkled warmly. "Well hello there, darling. I am Deborah."

David held out a hand, blushing despite himself. "David White, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."

Deborah took his hand in both of hers. "And I, you," she told him sincerely. She stepped aside, gesturing for both of them to enter. John eased off his backpack, setting it on the floor nearby, and invited David to do the same. A large, light blue metal toolbox sat in one corner, its label reading "Property of Dharma Initiative".

"Have a nice time at the beach?" she asked, reaching up to caress Locke's scruffy cheek. Deborah turned to wipe a bit of mud from his sleeve, wrinkling her nose as a smell assailed her. She chuckled when she looked down at his muddy pants legs; he looked down too, not seeing the mud as he wiggled his toes in his stocking feet.

"Yes, we did. It was actually very good for us to…" John began, starting to make his way toward the kitchen. A welcome aroma of fresh baking bread drew him there.

"Wait, no. No, please," she said, laughing. "You are a mess, my dear. And so are you, child," Deborah added, including David who was looking around the foyer, noticing the shelves of books in the next room. John and David exchanged a glance, shrugging their shoulders at each other. Her laughter continued as she took John's face in both of her tiny hands, kissing him on the lips this time. Automatically, he drew her into his arms for a full embrace. She nearly gave in, catching herself just in the nick of time.

"You can go take a shower next door, John love," Deborah insisted gently, pushing him to the door. "And I will draw a bath for you here, alright David? You are both really rather pungent right now!"

David nodded immediately, raising his eyebrows at John, who was grinning back at him. "Yes, ma'am. Sounds like a _great_ idea."

Locke held up his hands in surrender. "Yes, ma'am. You are absolutely right," he said, laughing heartily. "It does sound like a great idea to me too, and it'll be nice to clean up before dinner."

Deborah made shooing motions with her hands, her eyes sparkling with love and silent promise. "I just put the soup on so dinner will be ready in an hour. David, my dear? Right this way."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"John? John," she called softly from the kitchen as she wiped her hands dry on a clean towel, remembering to turn off the overhead light as she came through the narrow hallway. "Are you still awake in there?"

He roused himself, staring into the candlelight that he knew Deborah preferred to use instead of electricity whenever possible. "Hm, what? Oh, yes, I am, more or less. Sorry, I was a million miles away just then."

Locke shifted in the easy chair, stretching his long legs out onto the woven rug. His bare feet moved across the warp and weft of the material. The hot shower had left him relaxed and sleepy; so had changing into clean clothes.

She shook her head, coming around behind him to rub his broad chest and shoulders through his gleaming white t-shirt. "Yes, I noticed, dear." She placed a tender kiss on the smoothness of his newly shaved scalp, chuckling. "Well, at least you smell better after all of that manly quiet time at your cabin. Woof!"

He caught one of her hands, kissing the palm of it, laughing softly as he looked up and back at the petite woman behind him. "Thank you. I try to clean up nice." The woman tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear; it had once been raven black but now was streaked with strands of silver.

Deborah eased around, still holding his hand as she perched on the arm of the chair, looking down into his eyes that were glistening in the near darkness. She watched him silently for so long that he couldn't help letting a shy smile cross his lips.

"What is it, Deb?" he asked, unable to curb his curiosity, his eyes crinkling in amusement and love.

The woman leaned down and kissed him again. "You look happy, John… in a different way though, a new kind of happy. This is not a criticism, mind you, just an observation."

John nodded, still smiling shyly, as if he wasn't sure he deserved such contentment after so many failures in his life. He constantly wondered if he had atoned enough, or if he had paid back enough for all of the wrongs he'd committed.

"I am, honey, I am very happy and so grateful. It's like I was _supposed_ to get down to the beach to find him that day, right when I did. It's almost fate, or destiny or… I dunno how to explain." He paused, his eyes growing moist as he searched for the words to express how he felt.

David had fallen asleep at the dinner table, after struggling mightily to keep his eyes open and follow the conversation between Locke and the kindly woman. The boy had been drawn to Deborah when she spoke of her gardens and of her numerous companion animals, and he looked forward to the next morning when he could meet the animals and help her with weeding and other chores.

Deborah brushed away a tear from his cheek, leaning down to kiss the spot where her thumb had been. "He is an amazing and beautiful boy. When did you first realize that David is your son?"

Locke blinked in surprise, turning in his seat to look more squarely at her. He had carried the sleeping David to his bed, and had missed the look of awe on her face as he made his way down the hall and back. "Wha… how did you know?"

"John, you are a dear and darling man, and you sometimes overlook the clues that are sitting right there in front of you," she said, gently chiding him. "He looks _just_ like you… in the face and in the eyes; I even think he has your hands. His eyes are blue of course, not really green, but the look is the same; just like the ocean for both of you in fact. You two walk alike, if that makes any sense, with that long-legged lanky stride of yours."

She smiled as she saw the wheels turning in his head, putting the hints together. Deborah was a tiny-statured woman, with light brown eyes that shone with a quick intelligence. She loved to learn about the differences, and the similarities in the people she met, and she honestly tried to accept so much diversity with love and patience.

John was still amazed at her lightning-quick insightfulness, but he took a deep breath and managed to go on: "David, he, um, showed me a picture of himself as a newborn baby in the hospital, with Helen. And the date written on the back was eight or so months after I flew to Australia. He doesn't know… or at least I don't think he knows me."

Deborah nodded, completely sure of her conclusions. "You told me about Helen, the woman you planned to marry when you lived in California." She knew that the memories still pained him sometimes; over the last eight years, he'd shared much of his past life, and his past mistakes, with her. "David must have her coloring, I think. Did she have red hair?"

"Oh, yes. Very dark; it was beautiful." He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a shaky breath. "Very beautiful. And then she died… his grandparents raised him." His voice had dropped to a mere whisper, and Deborah could easily see the depth of his feelings.

She caressed his now whisker-less cheek, brushing her fingertips along the lines that the sun and wind had creased there. "And so David is here, with you. Any ideas about how he got to the Island?" He had told her about the damaged life raft, and how he had found David lying on the beach.

John shrugged, squeezing one earlobe with his thumb and forefinger as he cast about in his mind's eye. "I have no idea… Richard maybe? Ben used to send him off-Island on missions all the time, didn't he? Recruiting and things like that, I imagine."

Locke was referring to Benjamin Linus, the former leader of the group of long-term Island residents. Richard Alpert had been his advisor, the right-hand man to many of the former leaders on the Island; he travelled often, usually under the auspices of "Mittelos Laboratories" or another corporate front.

"You'll have to ask him. In fact, we can invite him for a meal tomorrow or the next day, if you like," she replied. "You know, it may even have been Jacob himself. He's been known to be quite the world traveller when he sets his mind to it."

Locke smiled tiredly; for every answer they thought they found there were more questions arising. "But how, how does he do it? I blew up Ben's submarine, years ago."

Deborah chuckled. "_That_ I've never asked. There's no telling how Jacob does _anything_." The woman leaned down to kiss him, a long and lingering kiss that told him how much she missed him while he was out on his retreat to the cabin. "It's late; I'll be in bed, my love."

"I won't be long, I promise."

-/-/-/-/-/-

David made his way along the hall, tiptoeing in his bare feet to the kitchen where Deborah was standing at the stove. She heard the creak of a floorboard, and turned, smiling.

"Good morning, David," she greeted warmly. "Did you sleep well?" Deborah tapped a wooden spoon on the edge of the skillet, and then rested it on the stovetop.

The boy grinned. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He paused, looking around. "Is John at home?"

Deborah moved from the stovetop to the table with a plate of food in each hand. "He'll be back any minute now. Go ahead and sit, child. Would you like juice or tea?" There was a scratch at the back door and the woman smiled. "And could you let them in, please? I'm sure they're looking for their breakfasts too."

David hopped up, holding the screen door open as an old cat and dog made their way gracefully into the kitchen. "Oh, juice please. Ma'am, what happened to his leg?" David knelt down, gently petting the three-legged cat. Both animals were grey-muzzled and the orange tabby cat was missing his right hind leg.

The dog, a larger and indeterminate mixed breed, sat nearby, his tail fanning the floor as he watched the newcomer stroke the cat's ears and cheek. He knew that his turn would come so he patiently waited for the boy to notice him.

"I'm not really sure what happened. He washed up on shore some time ago, and his hind leg was so badly injured that I had to take it off, very carefully in fact," Deborah explained. "He must have fallen overboard from a ship that passed us by. That was eleven years ago; he was just a teeny-tiny fuzz-ball of a kitten."

"Aw, poor little guy. Is he okay?" He turned to rub the dog's ear and shoulders, letting him sniff his hands and arm first by way of introduction. "Hey, buddy. I'm David," the boy whispered to the dog, eliciting a soft whine of acknowledgement.

Deborah was touched by the boy's caring manner, and by the way her pets seemed to take to him in a matter of moments; she was one who believed that animals could sense kindness in humans. "Cat seems to get around just fine, oh and that's just the name that stuck. I never got around to changing it. The dog is called Reggie."

David gave each animal one last friendly pat and got up to wash his hands at the sink. As he was drying his hands on the towel Deborah gave him, they heard boots being wiped on a mat at the back door. John couldn't help beaming at the woman when he saw that his loved ones were all present in the kitchen that morning.

"Thank you," he said, accepting a cup of coffee, leaning in to kiss her cheek in greeting. "And good morning, Sir David. Have a good sleep?"

David giggled, hurrying to swallow a bite of fresh fruit. "I did, Sir John. And today we must find the dragon and slay him!" Deborah chuckled, giving Locke a questioning look.

"Apparently yesterday was 'talk like a knight' day, and it's continued on this morning," he explained, and she gave a nod of understanding. "I just spoke to Cindy, and she'll come over later this morning with her kit to tidy up that haircut for you, David."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 6/?**

**What Richard saw**

Richard stretched his arms high above his head, checking the small clock that he kept on a bookshelf nearby. An involuntary exclamation of surprise escaped his lips when he realized he'd been working on his new ship-in-a-bottle project for four hours straight, since right after breakfast. _No wonder I am hungry_, he thought with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He took off his glasses, ones he only wore when he worked up close with the miniature sailing ships, placing them carefully in a navy blue case.

With a lightness of step that belied his true age (Richard Alpert was born _Ricardo _Alpert on December 1, 1837 on Tenerife, the largest of the Canary Islands and a sea-faring territory of Spain), he made his way to the kitchen of his tiny yellow house, and put a kettle of water on to boil. He had a taste for a strong, sweetened coffee to go with his simple leftover meal of roasted chicken with black beans, corn, tomatoes and green onion. Not for the first time did he appreciate their healer's talent for gardening, and the fresh fruit, vegetables and herbs she was able to coax from the rocky but rich Island soil. The pungency of the fresh cilantro leaves and cumin made him smile as he closed his eyes to smell the garnishes that he removed from the platter before he carefully placed it in a warm oven. He hoped that a D.I. food drop would come soon so that he could gift John and Deborah with new packets of seeds for their gardens.

As he made his way to the antique record player, his gaze fell upon a sketch he'd made early that morning when he woke from a dream. It was a rough pencil drawing of his wife, long dead from a bout of consumption, long before he'd arrived on this Island. _Isabella_, he thought with a pang of sadness that had not lessened much in over a century. "_Te amo_, Isabella," he permitted himself to say aloud. "I wish you were here with me, _mi amor_."

Richard hummed softly to himself as he flipped through the stack of record albums in his most recent acquisition, finally deciding on his favorite Placido Domingo. The Spanish opera star was the closest thing he had to sounds of his homeland, complemented by the younger Spaniard, Jose Carreras. It was with grudging respect that Alpert had added Luciano Pavarotti to his music collection, even though the world-famous tenor was Italian. All three men spoke and sang to his soul.

Over the opening bars of the opera he'd chosen, he heard a child's voice and laughter outside, coming from John Locke's house, right next door. Curious, he looked out of the dining room window and saw Cindy Chandler, scissors and comb in hand, trimming the hair of a young boy he did not recognize. There in the mid-day sunlight, the child was seated on a plain wooden chair with a white towel tucked loosely around his neck. He seemed to be doing his best to sit completely still, but even from that distance, Richard could see the boy's eyes looking to one side as he tried to keep up his end of the conversation with the attractive former Australian flight attendant. She had arrived on the Island in September 2004, crashing with the "tail section" of the doomed airliner, Oceanic 815.

He had to laugh and twitch in sympathy as he watched the boy shudder at the ticklish strands of hair falling down his back as Cindy removed the towel and flapped it once or twice in the breeze. The boy smiled broadly up at the woman (Richard could read lips fairly well as the newcomer thanked her) before he ran off toward the open grassy yard with Deborah's brown and white dog. The old dog, Reggie was his name, leapt at the stick that the youngster was waving, and then he dashed off to fetch it when it was thrown for him at last.

Richard prepared a strong cup of coffee, adding his usual two-sugars to sweeten it and then stepped out onto his back porch to sit awhile as he enjoyed it. Things had slowed down quite a bit after Ben Linus had "moved" the Island, and Alpert had to admit that he was more content as John Locke's advisor (and mediator to the Island's Protector, Jacob) than he had been in quite some time. It wasn't that he had not gotten along with Benjamin it was just that John had a far different leadership style, and he was not distracted by "novelties" such as the lack of successful pregnancies in the women of their group.

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear_, Richard thought, rather irreverently, as Locke stepped from the back door of his house and waved. Richard smiled and waved back, setting his mug down on the small table next to his favorite outdoor chair. It was one of a pair of Adirondack-style chairs that he had built with his own hands, following a pattern he'd discovered during one of his trips to the U.S. mainland.

"Howdy, Richard," John called out as he came over to shake hands. On an impulse, Locke cheerfully clapped the man's shoulder. Alpert grinned as he remembered that it had taken him months to get used to the new leader's _modus_ _operandi_: though he was quiet and sometimes even rather moody, John Locke was a warm, caring man who was genuinely concerned for the well-being of his people. His faith in the Island, and his belief that it was a special place, were both extraordinarily strong.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Locke said, noting the fresh cup of coffee that sat on the armrest of the chair.

"Not at all, John," Richard assured him. "Just taking a break before lunch. I started a new ship while you were on your retreat. It's good to have you back, by the way."

Locke smiled, graciously waving off the silent offer of a seat. "Thank you, I won't keep you long. Deborah asked me to invite you to dinner tonight if you've not already made plans. She's making paella."

Richard raised an eyebrow, mildly teasing his colleague. "I'd be delighted, John. It is my favorite, you know."

The bald man laughed. "Of course. And you can meet our new young visitor, David, although you probably have already spoken to him on one of your off-Island trips years ago, right?"

Richard looked perplexed, shaking his head. When Locke first joined them in his official capacity, he and Richard had had a few private, late-night conversations about John's early life, and the fact that Alpert had visited him in California twice (once at his birth, and again when Locke was five-years old and living in foster care). John had been curious about Jacob, and Richard had been able to explain some (but not all) of the ways he visited people away from their Island.

"Not I. Sorry, John," Richard replied, still puzzled. "I've never met that boy before."

John shrugged but did not seem too alarmed. "Interesting." His brows knitted momentarily, and then he shrugged again. "Anyway, I think you'll like him. Seven o'clock?"

"I'll be there." The dark-eyed Spaniard made a mental note to bring a bottle of home-brewed wine with him, as a gift for the lady of the house.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"As always, that was delicious, Deborah," Richard said as he pushed back from the table. "Are you sure I can't help with anything?" The woman shook her head, smiling affectionately at their guest. Deborah had met him shortly after his arrival, bedraggled and unshaven as he was; Jacob had brought him to her so that she could tend his wounds left over from the heavy steel shackles he had worn in the hold of the slaving ship. She loved him as she would have loved her own children, and she was older than any of them could have imagined.

"You are a dear," she replied. "David has already promised to help so I won't take that away from him. No, you and John can move on into the other room and discuss whatever it is you gentlemen haven't covered yet." She chuckled as she stepped to the kitchen sink with her hands full.

The boy appeared at his side, carefully moving his dirty plate and flatware as Richard rose to follow John to the easy chairs in the cozy living room. "Don't forget your wineglass, sir," David said, pointing with his chin.

"Ah, yes. Much obliged," he told the boy, appreciating the youngster's polite, if seemingly reserved nature. Richard had observed the child all through their dinner, laughing indulgently when David had tried the wine and decided at once that he'd wait until he was a few years older to acquire the taste for it. At some point early in the evening, Deborah had asked him… very quietly, and in Latin… if he noticed anything special about the boy. Other than coming to the conclusion that the newcomer was a pleasant young man, Alpert was not yet sure what she meant.

As the three adults sat in quietly chatting, Deborah with her knitting, they watched as the youngster constructed a frontier town… complete with a fort, train station and stables… using an old set of "Lincoln Logs" that John had found in an attic. Richard had never seen or even imagined such a toy, but he could tell that David was familiar with the tiny wooden logs, cut in a variety of sizes. The details of the toys were amazing, all the way down to roofing slats, fence posts and even the right-angled notches where the logs would fit more properly together.

"We should be due for our quarterly food-drop," commented John, finishing his small glass of wine. "Assuming that the Dharma folks, wherever they are, are keeping to the same calendar. This batch is really good, by the way; I'd like to learn wine-making if you'll teach me."

Richard laughed appreciatively, bringing his attention back to the topic at hand. David had begun laying train tracks, placing the rails in a smooth figure eight as he followed the design in his mind's eye (the boy had looked briefly at the suggested pattern book that had been in the box with the toys, but had put it aside). It seemed that he preferred to use his own imagination when constructing with Lincoln Logs.

"That would be a stimulating project, wouldn't it? I was just thinking along those lines earlier today," he said. "There should be seeds or at least gardening implements in this one as spring is coming."

"That will be wonderful," Deborah added, glancing up from her project. "This time of year is the best growing season and I think some of my seed stocks are getting too old to use anymore."

"Can I help?" came a youthful voice from the floor. None of the three adults were aware that the boy was observing them too.

The woman nodded, smiling down at the boy's earnest face. "Of course you can, child. Didn't you already tell me that you are an experienced gardener?"

David grinned, sliding Cat gently away from his nearly completed log cabin on the floor; the feline opened one eye, stretched and went right back to sleep. "Yes, ma'am. I like gardening. We grew lots of things in California when I was a kid, with Papa and Nana I mean."

Locke stifled a chuckle at David's inadvertent joke, not wanting to discourage his son. "Sounds good, partner."

The boy counted out fourteen roof slats for the nearly completed building right next to the train tracks. "Mr. Alpert, can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

David held the roofing slats, fanning them out before aligning the green pieces into place. "Where are you from? Before you came to this place, I mean?"

"I was born on the Canary Islands… _La Islas Canarias_, a long time ago."

John and Deborah both noticed that the boy did not ask _when_. David nodded, a big grin on his face. "Neat! I did a report on the Canary Islands last year at school for World Geography Day. The capital is Santa Cruz, and the official language is Spanish." He paused, thinking of something else. "My friend Israel… he's this guy I know back home in Hawaii, told me it was a great country topic so he helped me with some of the really big words."

Richard looked curiously from Deborah to John and back. "I would have liked to have seen that, David. I'm sure you did a good job on it."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Later that night, as he sat thinking about his day and what Deborah had suggested to him, Richard was drawn to memories of the first time he met the Protector of the Island.

"_Who _are_ you?" he asked, looking up from the cup of wine to the man seated beside him. He was young but not clean-shaven, and his clothes looked hand-made. Ricardo was dressed in tattered rags, shivering in a woolen blanket, still cold from his repeated dunking in the ocean, his literal baptism on the Island._

"_My name is Jacob," was the reply. "I'm the one who brought your ship to this Island." Jacob poured himself a cup of the deep burgundy wine, replaced the cork in the bottle and took a sip._

"_Not my ship, I was in chains in the hold. I was sold by a priest at the… you brought it here? Why?"_

_Jacob paused thoughtfully. "The one who sent you to kill me today believes that all of mankind is corrupt and sinful; that it's in their very nature to sin, and that it always has been. I bring people here to prove him wrong. When they arrive, their past no longer matters. Whatever they have done, and whoever they were in the past is irrelevant."_

_Ricardo shook his head, still grieving though it had been many months. "My wife died when I tried to save her… the medicine was too late. I killed a man trying to save her, it was an accident but the doctor died by my hands, and that is why I am here." _I am being punished_, he thought._ I'm not yet in hell, but this is punishment.

_Jacob nodded, his blue eyes softening with sympathy. "I am sorry for your loss, Ricardo. I believe that you did everything you could to save her. No matter what he told you, she is not here, I can assure you."_

_ "Before the ship, the 'Black Rock', there were others?"_

"_Oh yes, many. Some lived peacefully for a long time, and others did not," replied Jacob rather cryptically._

"_If _you_ brought them, then why didn't _you_ help them, help them to find peace here?" Ricardo finished his wine and drew the blanket tighter around his chest, against the sea breeze that was kicking up. His scraggly hair and beard itched from the salt water; his stomach was starting to growl from hunger again._

"_It's completely meaningless if I have to force anything on anyone. All of us know the difference between right and wrong," Jacob said. "You implied that very thing yourself."_

"_Of course I did! My mother and father, they raised me, they taught me to be a good man. Isabella and I were planning to start a family, to start a new life together, and have many sons and daughters. But why didn't you help those whom you brought here?" Ricardo could not help raising his voice, indignant._

_Jacob shrugged. "Why should I have to step in? I'm not their father, nor am I my brother's keeper." His face betrayed none of the irony that he felt, and he was certain that Ricardo did not know it was his own brother who sent the ragged castaway to kill him._

_ "If you don't, _he_ will, Jacob."_

_Jacob blinked and paused, considering carefully. For all of his rough appearances, this Ricardo was an intelligent man. "Do you want a job?" he asked after several moments._

_Now Ricardo was surprised and his eyes widened, incredulous. "A job? Doing what?" His facial expression was clearly one of "what on Earth can I do?"_

"_You can be my representative, an intermediary to help me and to help the people I bring here. This is a very special place, I hope you see that."_

_Ricardo did not hesitate; he had already weighed his options. "What do I get in return, if I do this job for you?"_

_ "You tell me."_

_ "I want Isabella back. I want my wife back, please."_

_Jacob shook his head sadly as he thought of the woman, who had raised him on the Island, killed by his twin brother. "I can't do that."_

_Ricardo looked disappointed but not surprised. He thought of Father Suarez and the Englishman who had bought him and kept him in chains. "Can you absolve me of my sins so I don't go to hell?"_

_ "I can't do that either."_

_ "Then I do not want to die. I want to live forever, Jacob."_

_With a smile, Jacob nodded as he reached to grip Ricardo's shoulder. Even through the wet wool against his skin, there was a tingling heat that faded slowly. "Now _that_, I can do."_

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 7/?**

**Meeting Jacob**

Jacob had been waiting patiently outside of the cave since just before sunrise when he heard Richard and Deborah on the approaching path. He stood with a smile, welcoming them as the woman arrived first, joining him in the cool shade of the cave's vestibule.

"Good morning, my dear," Jacob said warmly, embracing her with fondness. She barely came up to his chin, and he himself was not a tall man. He bent down slightly to accept a kiss on the cheek.

"Jacob," she said with a wink. "You are looking well, as ever."

He shook his head, still smiling. It was always the same conversation, and it felt as if he had known the petite healer for a thousand years. _Well, actually it is just a bit over a thousand years_, he thought in amusement. With Richard, it was a more formal nodded greeting; not as familiar, but still friendly and sincere. After all, he'd only known the dark-eyed Spaniard for one hundred fifty or so years.

"Good morning, Richard," said Jacob, his eyes sparkling as he greeted him. "They are on their way, I hope?"

"Good morning, Jacob. Yes, right behind me," Alpert replied, inexplicably nervous in anticipation of such a rare group audience with the man standing in front of him; usually when Richard met with Jacob, it was an informal one-on-one chat near the wrecked statue, with Richard carrying messages to the leader of his people on the Island. He nodded his thanks as Jacob invited them both to sit at the fire. A fairly large vessel of steaming water rested on the hearthstones.

"Thank you. Our tea will be ready soon, and we can get started."

Jacob resumed his patient vigil, knowing full well that his early-arriving guests had many questions. He watched as Deborah patted Richard's hand on his leg in a reassuring gesture, but he did not comment. Not many minutes later, they heard a child's cheeky laugh ringing out in the jungle nearby, and the deep rumbling reply of a man's voice followed.

Richard and Deborah saw Locke and David step a short distance off the path as they approached the cave, squatting down together to look at something they had found. As John explained and pointed carefully with his fingers (it looked like a tiny rock or a plant from where they were sitting), the boy leaned in very close to see, so close that their heads were almost touching. It was obvious to anyone who observed them that David genuinely liked the tall leader's company, and was willing to learn from him all that he could absorb.

Like a flash of lightning in that very moment, Richard finally was struck by their resemblance as father and son, even in different color t-shirts, and it made him a little fearful of and for the pair. He drew in a sharp breath and looked over at the caretaker of the Island. Alpert understood at last what the healer had been trying to tell him about John and David; she had seen the close family similarities in them as soon as she'd met the boy.

"Have faith, Richard," Jacob whispered as he turned and stepped away to fetch several wooden cups resting in a niche in the stones. "They are _both_ very special to me and to our Island. We need them, and we need their help."

David was still smiling to himself when he and Locke arrived to the meeting at the cave. He hurried across the damp cave floor to give Deborah a hug, and his backpack shifted off one shoulder; in the few short days since he joined them, the boy had grown very close to the oldest member of the colony. She had already begun teaching him about the medicinal and edible plants that grew on their tropical home. As a woman who had never had children, she positively doted on the ones she met on the Island.

"I fed Reggie and Cat before we left, ma'am," he told her by way of greeting, meaning her pet dog and cat, of course. She kissed the side of his head and urged him to sit next to her, helping him to ease his knapsack all the way off and lean it against a small boulder. Deborah was glad to see that his sunburn no longer seemed to bother him, and that he was finally starting to fill out where he had been so skeletally thin. Her aloe and herbal treatment, as well as hearty meals and plenty of rest, had been helpful in that.

"Thank you, child," she said. "They appreciate your company as much as I do." Deborah could tell how much both of her companion animals liked David; the furry duo sought him out during nearly every waking moment.

David sat and looked curiously around him, murmuring a polite "hello, sir" to Richard as well; he had never hiked to this particular cave before (it was about an hour's walk from the D.I. Barracks), though he and Locke had explored quite a bit around the cabin. John sat next to Richard, greeting him with a nod as he too, removed his backpack and dropped it alongside David's.

Jacob served Deborah's tea first, and then Locke's. "John, how are you? I have to say that it looks like Island life suits you very well."

Locke chuckled softly, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "I am well, thanks, and yes, I think it does." A shy smile spread across his lips as he accepted the steaming cup from the Guardian of the Island, his protective glance falling on David as he blew across the hot tea. "I think it does." Jacob was pleased to see that John was comfortable in his new role, and had grown so very different from the lonely and bitter man whom he had touched in California.

Richard sat back with his tea, watching closely as David finally noticed Jacob standing quietly there in the background. The boy immediately brightened, his eyes lighting up when he recognized his friend from Oahu.

"_Israel_! Howzit going Iz?" he exclaimed, slipping easily into Hawaiian slang, hopping to his feet to shake hands with Jacob, gripping their fists and embracing as young people often do. John, Richard and Deborah were all somewhat surprised at this, unaware that David had met him off-Island, and had even called him by a different name.

Jacob smiled and patted the boy's shoulder with his free hand; he had to chuckle at the enthusiastic greeting from his young friend. "I am well, David. It is good to see you. Please, sit. I'm glad you came to talk with me this morning."

"You know him, kiddo?" Locke asked, incredulous. Of all of the mysteries of the Island, this was not one he'd expected. Actually, it ranked right up there with encountering polar bears on a tropical island and finding a crashed Beechcraft in the tree canopy, full of Nigerian heroin.

"Oh, sure I do. He used to run the Hawaiian shave ice shop in my neighborhood," David replied, totally oblivious to the looks of surprise that Richard and Deborah were exchanging. "Anuenue shave ice, right down the street from Papa's house. There was a huge painted rainbow on the sign… 'cos _Anuenue_ means 'rainbow'."

Jacob brushed his finger to his lips, tapping it there, his eyebrows creased in a slight frown. "Pineapple and mango, extra coconut on top, right?"

"Yes, every time, Iz." David accepted a cup of tea, and took a tentative sip, savoring the sweet floral taste. "You made another batch of your hibiscus blossom tea?"

Deborah laughed quietly as she sipped from her beverage. "You do have an amazing palate, David; exceptional for one so young." The boy grinned at the compliment, blushing a little.

Jacob finished his tea, setting his cup down beside him. "Are you happy here on the Island, Dave? You look very healthy and cheerful."

"I'm happy, sure, and I miss my grandfather and the other kids at school. We had a new rock climbing wall on the playground, they just built it," he replied, completely honestly. "But this is a really cool place with so many things to see. You already know how much I like the ocean and the beach."

Jacob nodded, pleased. "I appreciate how straightforward you are, my young friend. It's refreshing, believe me."

"Papa told me what the doctor had said about his cancer," David continued, his expression grave even for him. "And when he helped me get in that little boat from the tour, I was scared at first; but just a little."

That got Locke's attention and his head snapped up. "_That's_ what you meant before, Dave? I guess I didn't understand when you said that the other day."

David nodded. "Yes, and then you found me on the beach, John; I don't remember all of it though. That part on the raft wasn't supposed to happen, so I guess I did something wrong… not to mention the seasick part. Papa and I went out on the whale-watching cruise, and then about halfway, he helped me get into the black raft thing just off the deck. We packed MREs and all that other stuff in my backpack."

Richard and Deborah sat silently; attentive to the drama they did not yet understand. For his part, John felt hope blossoming in his heart of hearts and it was a bit bewildering. After a lifetime of disillusionment after another, he realized that all he ever wanted was a family of his own, full of unconditional love and acceptance. It was not that his foster-care families did not love him; it was the lack of a stable home that bothered him until he was emancipated at age eighteen. He remembered moving a lot as a child in southern California.

"Storms are unpredictable," he heard Jacob continuing. "I don't think you did anything wrong at all. That's exactly what he and I discussed beforehand, in fact. The reason I asked you all here though, and you in particular David, is _because_ of your grandfather." Jacob paused thoughtfully.

"He told me the lung cancer was really bad, um terminal I think is the word, but he wasn't afraid."

"No, he was never afraid and I promised him that you would be safe," continued Jacob. John, Richard and Deborah seemed to be holding their collective breaths.

The caretaker of the Island laced his fingers in front of his chin before he went on. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but in many respects, your grandfather was a very bad man."

None of the adults were prepared for what happened next as David leapt to his feet, shouting and balling up his hands. "No way! You take that back, now!" They had never seen the boy so angry, reacting as he did then. "He was not and you know it!"

Jacob remained seated and calm, ignoring the shocked gasps from Richard and Deborah. "I can't take it back because it's true, David."

David was infuriated, clenching his fists and he twisted to slip past Locke in a vain attempt to get at Jacob. John barely grabbed hold of the boy's waist, keeping him from falling into the fire. It was like trying to tame a hornet's nest.

"I don't believe you! You were my friend, Iz," David growled, struggling to push Locke's arm away and completely ignoring John's words of protest. "I thought you were my friend, man. You take it back or I'll punch you right in the mouth!"

Jacob nodded at Locke, who let the boy come around the fire to stand beside the one who had provoked him. He was still calm in the face of the boy's justified anger, and remained seated with his hands now in his lap; his body language was deliberately open and defenseless.

"David, I need to finish telling you all of what I was going to say, and if you still want to punch me in the mouth when you hear everything, you can do so. It'll be entirely your decision. Deal?"

David didn't answer but he nodded stiffly and so Jacob went on:

"I don't mean your grandfather Joe, Joe White. He was a very kind and brave man, and he raised you so well. That is the truth and it's plain to all of us here." Jacob paused and looked up at the boy's face, still angry but now trying to hide his tears. David's hands unclenched and he wiped his eyes, leaving a smudge of mud on his cheek.

"I meant your _other_ grandfather." Jacob smiled kindly, watching as the youngster's temper subsided.

"But I don't have another grandfather, Iz. He's probably dead or something…" David looked down at his mismatched sneakers and a fresh tear landed on one of the shoelaces. He gripped at his fingers, fidgeting as he tried to deal with his powerful emotions.

"Sure you do, and even if he has passed on, he's still part of your family tree. Here," said Jacob, his voice soft and encouraging. He wiped a smooth patch in the dirt with his hand. "I'll show you what I mean." David knelt down close by, resting on his heels.

Jacob looked at each adult in turn, cocking his head slightly at John Locke, as if to say _It's going to be all right_.

He drew a small stick figure with his finger, and then two more above it, one clearly a woman with much longer hair curling to her shoulders. "This little one is you, David. And this is your mother."

"Helen," said David hoarsely, not looking up. "My mom's name was Helen."

Jacob put a gentle hand on David's back. "Yes, Helen." He reached and drew two more stick figures above the one that represented "Helen", unmistakably indicating her parents.

David cleared his throat, sniffling a little. "Papa and Nana." His voice cracked when he said their names. He wiped his cheek again, this time using his shirtsleeve.

"Exactly. Joe and Mary White." He drew two more stick figures above the figure representing David's father, and Locke felt his heart hammering in his chest. John was sure that everyone else could hear it, even over the pounding in his ears.

"And I know that they loved you very, very much, David. Your mother too, even though she died when you were just a baby." Jacob could not help remembering his own mother who died in childbirth, and then his adoptive mother, and it still was painful, even though so many centuries had passed.

"I mean this man right here. His name was Anthony Cooper," Jacob explained as he pointed to the drawing. "This woman was called Emily, so she was also your grandmother. On your father's side, see?"

Despite himself, the boy was curious. "Why do you say he was a bad man, Iz? What did he do that was bad?"

Jacob sat back, searching for the right words. "He lied to people, he stole from people. He stole from your father too. He hurt him terribly."

"He did, but why? Why would he do that?" David's eyes were wide and innocent, and his expression grew sympathetic for someone he'd never even met.

"I don't know, maybe he was jealous of others or very sad about himself and some of the things he had done. Sometimes that is what makes people do bad things, right?" Jacob's face softened as he watched David processing this new information.

David nodded solemnly. "Yes, I think so. But Iz, I've never met my dad and I can't remember anything about my mom. I totally wish I knew them but I don't think that can happen."

Jacob smiled, glancing over at John. "Are you quite certain you haven't? I've met your dad, Dave, and he is a thoughtful and kind man. You were named for him, in fact."

The boy shook his head. Locke cleared his throat, and his voice was rough with emotion.

"He's talking about me, buddy. I didn't know anything about you until you showed me the picture that day up in my cabin."

David leapt to his feet, his mouth wide open in shock as he stumbled back a step or two. Fresh tears came to his eyes, spilling down his cheeks and wetting the front of his shirt. "Wait, are you sure? I mean, really, really sure?" The adults could all see that he was shaking like a leaf, and not just from the mid-morning chill of the cave.

Jacob chuckled as he rose from his seat, stepping lightly aside so that John could come closer. Locke knelt down right next to the boy, reaching out one hand hesitantly. "When your mother named you John David, I believe she meant me and that is an honor I'm not sure I deserve, son." He swallowed hard as his own eyes filled with tears.

"I did some stupid things, really dumb guy stuff, even when I asked her to marry me," he continued with a rueful laugh at himself. "And she sent me away, rightfully so. I never even knew she was going to have a baby… and that baby was you. I'm very sorry I wasn't there for you, and I'm sorry that she died."

Jacob put a hand on each one's shoulder, and Locke felt a warm tingle. "I'll come visit later. I'm sure you men have a lot of catching up to do." With a wink at Deborah and Richard, he left.

David drew a shaky breath, looking at the healer and the dark-haired Spaniard, as if he was expecting an elaborate joke at his expense. He turned back to Locke, almost pleading with his eyes.

"Do you want me? Um, to stay here with you on this Island?"

John smiled through his tears, reaching up to grip the boy's forearms. "More than anything I have ever wished for in my whole life. Of course I want you to stay with me, with us. You can stay for as long as you like, David."

David bobbed his head decisively, coming nearer to hug John tightly about the neck. "Well, how about if I stay forever?" He giggled as his smooth cheek pressed against his father's rough beard, and the man's strong arms gathered him in close.

Locke laughed, his gaze falling on Deborah and Richard as the woman wiped tears away. _Thank you_, he mouthed silently. _Thank you_.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 8/?**

**Where the wild things are**

As spring drew near, Locke could not remember ever having such joy and satisfaction in his life. Born to a teenaged mother, he had spent his entire childhood in foster care. He had never really known a permanent home or school environment, and it left him feeling restless in ways that he could not have explained. Even as an adult, after finally meeting his birth mother (and then later, his con-man father), he felt wounded by their actions. Memories of feeling abandoned, angry and hurt, for what felt like endless time, had plagued him for decades.

Until now.

Day by day, he and his son grew closer to each other on the Island, and David had even taken to wearing clothes that matched his as much as possible. John was touched and humbled at how the boy loved him, wholeheartedly accepting him. David, too, was energetic and thriving, and he settled in with John and Deborah with little adjustment. The three made a very close-knit nuclear family unit, each one contributing to the whole. Each one was secure in the knowledge that they _belonged_ together, brought together by the Island herself.

One afternoon in mid-March, Locke had gotten a report from Richard that the Dharma Initiative food drop had finally arrived, and that several members of the group had already begun moving the supplies to the cache building in that area, very near to where the D.I. "Swan" research station hatch had imploded. John would hike south to the drop location the next morning, and had made plans to work on the inventory as well. After dinner, and after his bath, David had picked from one of the many books available in the house as his bedtime story selection. He had been excited to find it among the collection…

"_And he came to the place where the wild things are, they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes, and showed their_ _terrible claws_," said Locke, reading aloud from the 1963 children's publication. He too had fond memories of the imaginative Maurice Sendak tale.

He felt David chuckle at the way his voice rumbled deep in his chest. The boy had told him that he liked the way it felt, resting next to him, and that he was certain that he too, would grow up tall and strong. "These guys do look pretty scary, don't they?"

"Nah, not really. They look like fluffy Halloween costumes to me, Dad and way too hot to wear," replied David dismissively, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand and shaking his head. John reached up to turn the page, continuing to read as David's cheek lay in the crook of his father's left shoulder. He clenched his left arm gently to draw the boy closer to his face, resting his nose on top of the David's still-damp hair. It smelled clean, like the soap Deborah made for them, fragranced with fresh lavender.

"You got that right, buddy," John agreed, thinking that he had yet to discover what, if anything, his son was afraid of. "Okay, _till Max said 'be still!' and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once, and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all_…"

"I could do that, just like Max," David commented when John paused. "If a monster came around in here, Daddy, I could scare him off for sure. See?" The boy pushed up on his elbow and stared fiercely at John. This lasted about ten seconds until Locke blinked and pretended to shiver with fear, making the boy giggle.

John turned the page and they found that Max had been crowned king of all the wild things. When he glanced down, he could see that David was fighting to stay awake. John often had to remind himself that his son was not yet seven years old.

"Hey partner, how about we finish this when I get back?" he suggested quietly, marking their place and closing the book.

David's eyes sprang open and he seemed disappointed. "But I'm not tired." His wide yawn gave him away and this made John smile fondly. He had done the very same thing when he was a kid.

Locke kissed the child's forehead and rolled off the narrow bed; the box springs squeaked a little. "You're still a growing young man, Dave. I'll be back before you know it. Two or three days, tops." He tucked the cotton sheet up to the boy's chin, and placed the book on the nightstand, next to a sea turtle figurine, one of several that David had in his collection.

"Can I come with you?" He reckoned he could try once more, asking to join in what he saw as an adventure with his father. "I can help, Dad."

John knelt at the bedside, reaching to smooth David's hair back from his face. He knew the boy was disappointed.

"And you are a great helper, pal, really. Next trip out, I promise you can come with me. This first bit is a bunch of _terrible_ work with a lot of _terrible_ heavy lifting and sorting. When I get back, we'll head over with the others to finish up the inventory in our small cache building, deal?"

He looked up and smiled as Deborah eased the door open, and the cat and dog made their way silently upon the end of the bed. One or two graceful twirls atop David's feet and they both settled in to doze at their now-nightly posts. The woman checked the open bedroom window, lowering the sash just a bit as the curtains billowed lightly in the tropical breeze.

"Yes, sir," David said, not quite pouting. "I'll work on my spelling too, for the inventory thing."

"Ah, good idea," he replied, standing as Deborah slipped in next to him to kiss David goodnight. "And you can design that tree fort we talked about. You had some interesting ideas in your notebook."

This made the boy grin with anticipation. "Can we really build it a thousand feet high? With a rope swing and escape pod?" Deborah made a soft noise of surprise, and then she realized they were teasing each other.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, one hand drawing reflexively to her throat.

John paused, pretending to consider. "Good to go on the rope swing, but how about twenty feet? I'm not so sure we could climb that far, especially carrying snacks and all."

"That'll work," said David very cheerfully, curling onto his side as the bed sheet tightened around his slender shoulder. "Goodnight Deborah, goodnight Daddy." With a pat on his back as the light was switched off, they stepped into the hallway.

John draped an arm across her shoulder as they made their way quietly to the kitchen, and he bent down to whisper in the woman's ear. "Thank you for watching my son," he told her. "I won't be gone long."

Deborah chuckled softly, reaching up to kiss his lips. "It's my pleasure, darling. I know he really wanted to go with you… we'll keep busy in the gardens, and looking after Reggie and Cat. I have a few other projects in mind that I think he will enjoy."

While he made some last minute adjustments to his backpack where it rested on the kitchen table, Deborah wrapped a small packet of herbs and aloe in cloth, leaving it next to his water bottles. She stepped over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, humming softly to herself. John came right up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Deborah dried her hands before she turned in his embrace, looking into his eyes. "I have an idea for the two of us as well, but I wanted to run it by you first."

"Anything. Fire away," he replied, smiling down at her. She paused to enjoy the hungry look on his face, confident in the knowledge that she was now the cause of it.

"Well, first I am going to have a nice hot bath since I was so busy out in the gardens today," she said, snaking her hands to reach around his waist and rub his lower back. "Which you are more than welcome to share."

John's eyebrows went up, thinking of the large claw-foot bathtub they had installed together; it really was funny what washed up from the Pacific Ocean currents around the Island. "You don't say? Interesting, my dear." The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought down a smile.

"Oh, indeed. Of course I do know you plan an early start in the morning since it is a bit of a walk to the old Swan station as you call it." Her hands drifted farther south, pulling him in closer and she could see his emerald green eyes darkening with desire.

"That is true. It'll take most of the day to get over there. Depending on the weather, it might be a really hard hike." He rested his chin momentarily on top of her head, feeling her warm breath on his neck.

"Poor thing," said Deborah as her hands moved to massage and squeeze his buttocks, a silent comment on his innuendo. Locke's reaction was almost immediate and she heard him growl softly, deep in his throat.

"And then after our bath, I will probably make love to you until rather late tonight. If that is alright with you, of course." She grinned wickedly as his Adam's apple bobbed and he swallowed.

"Um, yes, I think that might be alright."

And that is what she did.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 9/?**

**Walk like an Egyptian**

David ambled down the central tree-lined path with his hands in his pockets, having just finished an early morning round through the gardens with Deborah. As planned, Locke had left early that morning—just before sunrise, and rather than leave him sitting around the house while she visited a few of their neighbors, she encouraged the boy to get out and explore the D.I. compound and some of its buildings near where they lived. He could introduce himself to people as necessary, and she felt it would be good for him to experience their community with a fresh point of view, without the influence of her or John's opinion. She promised him that they would take a hike together, on their way to a special lunch picnic, so they agreed to meet back at Locke's house in an hour or so. Neither Cat nor Reggie was awake at the time, so he ventured out alone.

He cast an affable wave to a young blonde woman he had seen before, but did not stop to visit her, not wanting to intrude. David thought he had been introduced when Cindy Chandler came to give him a haircut, and managed to recall that her name was Emma. She was seated on a white picket park bench and holding hands with a muscular bearded man. It appeared that they were deeply involved in a private conversation. Emma smiled and nodded slightly in his direction, returning her gaze to the man beside her.

As he made his way to the far side of the row of tiny yellow houses, David saw an older boy practicing some kind of martial art with a long wooden staff; he seemed to be fighting off imaginary enemies in the shade of the trees as he moved with poise, swinging the plain yet supple weapon from side to side in front of him as he twisted and crouched, almost like a dance. Curious, David sat on the ground to watch.

"Hi," said the stocky teenager when at last he paused to wipe the sweat from his face, about ten minutes later. "You must be the new kid in town. My sister Emma told me about you." He grinned and came over with his hand outstretched.

David got to his feet and shook hands. He laughed self-deprecatingly. "I think I must be, yes. I'm David, or Dave. Either one is fine."

"Zach," replied the teen, taking a swallow from his water bottle and then offering it to David. "Welcome to paradise." There was sarcasm in his tone that went over the younger one's head.

"I'm good, no thanks. What are you doing? Is it a weapon for kung fu or something?" He jerked his chin at the staff.

Zach held it up, easily balancing the nearly six-foot length in one hand. "This? It's a bo staff. I had just started karate back home before the plane… um, yeah, anyway, it looks rough but it's actually very relaxing. Helps me take my mind off of stuff, and I couldn't find any swords to use like the guys on television."

"Oh, cool. Can I try it? I wonder if my dad can help me make one like this."

"Yeah, why not? Go for it." Zach's eyes glinted with interest at the mention of the boy's father but he made no comment. Instead, he handed over the bo staff and took several steps back to make room.

David tentatively swung the wooden staff as he remembered Zach had just done, although much more slowly, but he soon got the hang of the basic figure-eight pattern without hitting anything (or himself) and a smile of success lit his face. When he stopped, he rapped the end of the stick on the grass as he had seen the other boy do, thinking it was part of the requisite moves.

"This is neat, Zach. I'd like to learn it too," he commented admiringly, stretching his arms as far as he could reach along the staff, measuring it against his body. He passed it back. "Thank you."

Zach nodded, giving a friendly smile. "Sure, there are a couple of teachers here actually. By the way, who's your dad? He lives on the Island somewhere? I thought I knew everybody by now."

David grinned. "Right, he's been here seven or eight years, I think. John, John Locke. He's my dad," he said with a touch of pride in his voice. The boy turned when he heard Deborah call his name and he waved to let her know. "I gotta go, but thanks again. See you later, if that's okay?"

"Oh, yeah. See you later then," replied Zach. He waved a greeting to the healer, and bent to pick up his second water bottle. He wondered how quickly he could get to the meeting place with this new information for his mentor.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Can't you give me a tiny hint about where we're going?"

Deborah chuckled and glanced back at the boy walking along the muddy path right behind her. "You _are_ persistent with your questions, child, just like your father. Yes, but a very, very tiny one then?"

"Please," David said, nodding. He tugged at the straps of his backpack with both hands, tucking his thumbs under the loops and looked up at her expectantly as they hiked along.

"Well, other than our picnic lunch, your surprise today has to do with swimming. John told me how much you loved swimming in the ocean so I thought you and I would try something different," she replied. "It's a bit further inland from here. How does that sound?"

"It sounds awesome!"

Yet again, Deborah noticed how the boy's eyes twinkled exactly like his father's when he was impassioned about something. It was uncanny that a child could inherit a characteristic such as that.

They walked another three quarters of an hour, with David whistling softly or commenting on something that he saw or heard. The jungle sounds were lively all around them, and Deborah smiled as she recognized some of the tropical birdcalls.

"Miss Deborah, may I ask you something?" he asked as they were clambering over a fallen tree trunk.

She turned and adjusted the lone shoulder strap of her haversack where it was rubbing a sore spot against her collarbone, brushing a stray lock of hair behind one ear. "Of course, child. Always."

"Well, daddy and I are from California. Where are you from? Before you came here, I mean."

Deborah raised her eyebrows, thinking that it was an interesting question; she had not brought to mind her birthplace for many, many years. "I was born in Luxor. It is a city in the southern part of Egypt."

"Really? That is so cool," he said. She had to laugh affectionately at the earnest look he wore. "You're a real live _Egyptian_?"

"Indeed I am." Once again, she noticed that he didn't ask her _when_, as if David had no concern at all about time; years, decades, centuries were all seemingly irrelevant to his way of thinking. He'd been just as accepting of Richard Alpert, the advisor who came from the Canary Islands.

"What did you do there? What is the city like?"

Deborah scratched her ear in thought, a wistful expression on her face as she recalled her childhood home. "When I was there, it was not a very big city at all, but it is right there on the river Nile. Did you know that the Nile is one of the major northward flowing rivers? No? Luxor is more widely known for farming… my family raised goats and pigeons. Some of our neighbors had beautiful fruit orchards, so we traded with them for things we did not grow ourselves. My father—well, all of the men now that I think about it, seemed to really enjoy bartering like that. It would take all day if my mother let them."

David grinned at the mention of her family, appreciating that she was sharing the story with him. "Do you have a world map or a globe I can look at? I've heard of the Nile but I'm sorry to say that I don't know very much about Egypt, or where it is and stuff."

"I'm sure we can find one. In fact, I think John has a nice atlas on the bookcase in our study," she said, pleased by and proud of his genuine interest. "We will look for it when we get back this evening."

She paused, stepping aside to let David get ahead of her and then she gently covered his eyes with both of her hands. "This is the surprise part, alright? No fair peeking now."

David nodded with a soft laugh, allowing her to guide his steps through the tall grasses. They walked about twenty more paces, and the boy carefully felt his way through the stand of young bamboo. He stopped when he felt Deborah stop, and she leaned closer to whisper in his ear. She felt him tense a bit with anticipation.

"David, we're here. Tell me what you think," Deborah said as she took away her hands and he looked around wonderingly, speechless for the moment.

It was an amazing waterfall paradise, with fresh cold water cascading from rocky cliffs that came out of the jungle above them. Though it was hard to tell from where they stood on the shore, the clear pool was at least twenty feet deep toward the middle, and schools of tiny fish swam in sparkling unison. The rocky cliffs were full of crannies and crevices, and tempting ledges were staggered all the way up to the top. Part of the pool was shaded, with green feathery aquatic plants waving to and fro in the barely detectable currents. The rest of the pool, and much of the black sandy beach, were in full sunlight, warming as the sun approached its daily zenith.

"Wow! What a totally neat place," he exclaimed at last, rather enthusiastically, just as she had predicted. There was no hesitation as the boy stripped off his shirt and shoes, looking for a good place to drop his backpack. David was grinning from ear to ear as he looked back at the woman, and she shooed him ahead.

"It was cold the last time I was here," she advised him as he leapt carelessly into the water—too late. "But I'll let you be the judge of..." She shook her head when he came up sputtering and shivering. Deborah was about to ask if he was all right when he laughed and shouted.

"Wha… that's cold, ma'am!" He shook water from his hair, just like a puppy would, and dove back under, moving across the pool with strong, sure strokes.

Deborah watched him for several long minutes, with a smile of tender love on her face. In recent weeks, she found herself imagining John Locke as a boy, wondering if he had been as inquisitive and energetic as David. He waved to her from the opposite shore, grinning with his success. She whistled to him, waving, and then found a shady spot to rest her tired feet in the water and to meditate.

Off in the narrow valley's distance, hidden by thick jungle vines, a man dressed in black hand-made clothes watched them; his focus was mainly on the boy as he swam around in the freshwater pool. His eyes narrowed in sinister calculation as the seeds of a new plan took root.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Just like in the day spas John has told me about," said Deborah, scooping up a large handful of black, volcanic mud and rubbed it on both of her lower legs; she already had a layer of the mud on both of her arms up to the elbow. "Would you like to try some?"

David looked skeptical but he shrugged good-naturedly and sat down beside her; water dripped from his hair as he came to back shore for a brief rest. "Sure. Eeww, it smells weird." He wrinkled his nose but otherwise did not protest.

She smirked as she slathered it on the boy's arms and legs, amused that John had had a similar reaction the first time they'd visited the waterfall pool (though what followed was not an appropriate story for children).

"That 'weird smell' as you call it is from the beneficial minerals, probably due to the volcanoes that were here long before any people came," replied the woman. "It's very good therapy for you too. After it dries awhile in the sun, we'll rinse off and your skin will be like new… soft and clean." She didn't bother to explain that she also believed that it drew harmful properties from the body and that she felt renewed by the mud treatments.

The youngster scooped up a handful of sulfurous mud, and used two fingers of his free hand to draw parallel stripes on his own cheeks. "Now I look like a mud-monster!"

Deborah laughed and leaned closer to put a dab of mud on the end of his nose. "There. You missed a spot, dear."

David giggled and lay back, warming in the sun as the mudpack dried. He smeared a glop of mud on his bare chest and stomach, closing his eyes and sighing his contentment. "It does feel pretty good, ma'am. I'm still stinky though."

-/-/-/-/-

"Are you sure?" asked the Man in Black sometime later, leaning back against a tree trunk and crossing his arms across his chest as they stood watching the pair below.

Zach nodded vigorously, observing as David and Deborah gathered black mineral mud and placed it in a large woven basket. Apparently they were planning to bring a batch of it back to the living quarters. "That's what he said, plain as anything. David told me 'John Locke is my dad'."

"Interesting," was the reply. Icy blue eyes held the teen's gaze and then the brooding man shrugged. "Not sure how it is possible, but interesting."

"So what's next?"

The Man in Black looked sternly at Zach. "You and your sister want to get off this Island, am I right?"

The young man cleared his throat, embarrassed at the lecture he was getting. "Of course we do, but…"

The Man in Black shook his head, his lips pursing in mild disdain. _Idiot_.

"You befriend him; you gain his trust. When the time is right, I'll let you know, and then you bring him to me. _He_ is going to be a very valuable little pawn even if he doesn't know it yet."

Zach finally gave a glimmer of understanding. "That could take a while, maybe as long as a few weeks or even a month."

"Why would I need to worry about a _month_, Zachary? Really? You've been here, what, eight years?"

"Yeah, about that, I guess." The teen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the tropical onshore breeze that was kicking up just then.

The Man in Black was now strangely calm but his eyes still blazed with fury, and something even more sinister. He had been plotting an escape for more centuries than he cared to count.

"Just do exactly what I tell you. Become his new best friend on this godforsaken rock. I can't touch one of Jacob's precious candidates, but I can make dead sure they'll hurt _themselves_ if I have to."

"What about the old lady?" asked Zach, referring to Deborah. He knew that she was the primary healer for their people, and was also very close to John Locke.

The Man in Black turned to leave, heading back into the jungle. "Don't ever touch her," he said over his shoulder, a sarcastic smile on his face. "You may need her special healing skills if you have a bad accident around here."

He chuckled as he stepped through the thick vines, thinking to himself: _boy, if you fail me, I will kill you. I've done it before_.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 10/?**

**The best medicine**

Deborah put on her sewing glasses and adjusted the nosepiece so it wouldn't slip down too far as she worked. Though her vision was quite good considering her true age, she needed the magnification to work up close like this.

"I'm sorry, David," she said caringly as she sorted items from her extensive first aid basket, warning him well in advance. "This is going to sting a lot, and then the medicine will help to numb the skin around these cuts. I can't give you anything stronger for the pain right now with that bump on your head. I'm afraid you might have a concussion too, but we'll see after the swelling goes down; I just want to be extra careful."

David winced at the pain, wiping tears away on his dirty right-side shirtsleeve. "I know, ma'am; my dentist always warned me about the stinging shot he was giving me. I think that may have been my best trip and fall ever," he replied, drawing in another sharp breath through his teeth as she again dabbed a cloth with antiseptic at the largest of the oozing cuts on his left forearm. His wounds had bled considerably during their hike back to the Compound so the wound looked fairly clean.

"I'm really sorry I lost your basket of special mud." The boy tried to laugh at his own joke, but stifled a cry of pain instead. "Ouch!" He twitched in his seat but his arm held still in her firm grip.

"Mud and baskets are easily replaced, darling child of my heart, and you are more special to me than anything," said the healer softly, drawing out a length of black thread from its spool and taking up a curved needle from a folded packet. Deborah wiped the needle thoroughly with the antiseptic mixture, deftly passing the thread through its eye. "We'll worry about that later. The good news is that I have smooth edges to work with here. Ragged cuts are a lot harder to stitch well."

She settled into her chair, and made sure that his arm was resting as comfortably as possible on the clean towels she had spread out on the kitchen table. All of the kitchen lights were on, and Deborah had gotten one of Locke's lanterns from their storage closet to put directly in her work area. A hasty knock at the back door got their attention, and the woman smiled a grateful welcome to the dark-haired man who entered, carefully closing the screen door behind him.

"Thank you for coming over so speedily, Richard. It looks like I need to stitch up our young _amigo_ a bit," she said, bringing him up to date.

Richard flinched in empathy when he saw the open wound on the boy's forearm; David had cut himself all the way down to the bone when he fell. The healer had cleansed the wound meticulously, using tweezers to pick away tiny rocks and other debris, and then had applied a homemade astringent surgical soap to reduce infection. "Ouch is right. Deborah, what can I do?"

The healer indicated with a nod of her head that he should sit right next to the boy. "You are being very brave David as I knew you would be, and you need to keep your arm as absolutely still as possible, alright?" She pulled his torn flesh together and made the first suture to close the gaping skin and muscle. A tiny snip of the thread with needle-nosed scissors was followed by the next stitch.

"Yes, ma'am," David replied, his voice catching in his throat as the sharp needle moved through his bare skin. He wiped his face on his shirtsleeve again; he had been holding his breath as tears pooled and ran down his cheek. "I've never had stitches before now, even when I was a little kid."

"That's lucky, my friend. First time, eh?" Richard asked quietly, encouraging him to continue and thinking it would help distract his attention. "I have needed stitches twice, no, three times, and Deborah has taken care of all of us at one time or another. Her sewing really is the best on the Island." He showed the boy a tiny scar just above his eyebrow; it was barely visible, and long since healed.

David smiled wanly. "No sir, no stitches but plenty of crashes and scrapes on my bike or my surfboard… things like that. Lava is super sharp if you land on it." He was pale but seemed to be doing well at the moment. The numbing effect of the salve was beginning to help, and Deborah could tell because he didn't flinch at all as she plied her needle and thread, and finished the second batch of sutures.

Richard chuckled, sliding his chair a little bit so that David was looking at him and not at the healer or the startling raw meat of his left forearm. "John recently told me that you like volcanoes. Hawaii is a good place for that."

"Yes I do, I _love_ volcanoes. I was hoping I had packed my Kilauea Iki book from back home but I can't find it," David answered immediately, his eyes lighting up. He drew a calming breath and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve again. "Did you know that there is a volcano in _Wyoming_ too?"

Alpert looked surprised; that was news to him. "No kidding?" He was being sincere and he realized that David wasn't really paying attention at all to the stitching that was in progress. The herbal salve that she had made had strong anesthetic properties.

"Well, under Wyoming is better to say, but it's the neatest thing ever. Yeah, it's a super-volcano, so it's really gigantic too. Most people don't even know about it since it is supposed to be extinct or whatever you call it."

"That would be a bad day surprise if it erupted, wouldn't it?" Richard learned more about volcanoes in the next quarter hour than he had in more than a century. He also realized that this was the lengthiest conversation he'd had with the Island's newcomer.

David stopped in mid-sentence, looking over when he felt Deborah starting to wrap his arm in a bulky sterile bandage. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"All set, dear," she told him as she clipped two pairs of tiny silver pins to hold the bandage in place. "Just rest here for a bit longer and I will make you some of my very special tea." Deborah put one hand on Richard's shoulder and leaned over him to kiss the boy's hair.

"How many stitches did I get, ma'am?" David wanted to know. Richard chuckled and got up to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.

"Fourteen," Deborah replied. "Not as many as I expected to tell you the truth." She winked at him. "You did well, young one." The woman rose, bringing her basket and other first aid supplies over to the counter. She put a kettle of water on to boil; gathering a small bamboo box of what looked like miscellaneous dried leaves and stems.

Richard stepped into the next room and returned with a small wooden chess set. He held it up to show the youngster. "Do you play chess?"

David shrugged one shoulder, smiling a little shyly. "No, but I'd like to learn. Daddy already taught me how to play backgammon, and Papa used to play acey-duecy."

Alpert nodded approval, and also acknowledgment of something Deborah asked him quietly in Spanish. "I'm glad. Let's play just a quick game while the lady of the house takes care of some things." He started setting up pieces, and explaining for David the basic moves each one could make on the board.

-/-/-/-/-/-

David tentatively sniffed the steaming teacup that Deborah had given him and he made a face at the way it smelled… rotted leaves and something else he couldn't quite identify. Richard laughed softly, glancing over at the healer who gave a knowing tilt of her head.

"I suggest that you drink this medicine down all in one shot, _amigo_," he advised. "It's really the best way for it, to just get it over with as quickly as you can."

The boy looked skeptical and took a tiny sip. He gagged and grimaced at the bitter taste of the herbal blend. "Ugh, gross! Ma'am, I'm sorry, this is _terrible_ stuff." He leaned forward like he was going to put the tea on the table and push it away.

Deborah soothingly touched his hand, encouraging him to keep holding the cup; she was gentle but firm. "I can add more of the honey, that might help."

"But it's _really_ yuck," David replied, just short of whining. "I can't drink it."

The healer added a large dollop of honey and gave David a spoon to stir it into the aromatic steaming tea. "Yes, you can. I promise it will help, dear. When that salve wears off later tonight, your arm will be quite sore, and I am very glad we've no broken bones to be concerned with. We want to keep ahead of the pain, alright?"

David paused, thinking about what she said, and he knew that the woman loved him. Richard took his own cup and gestured for the boy to do the same (although the Advisor's tea was ordinary mint).

"Watch me, David. I'll teach you to drink tequila with your father and me when you are older," he said with a friendly wink. This made David laugh as he copied the dark-eyed Spaniard, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.

"Okay, _muy_ _macho y muy rapido_, right? This is easy for men like us. All of it down in one… one, two, three."

Together they drank their teas, swallowing very quickly, and even with the added honey in his cup, David grimaced and gagged again but he didn't comment when he took a cleansing sip of water immediately afterward. Richard nodded his admiration and carried both of their cups to the sink to wash them out. When Deborah came back to the kitchen, she used her good sewing scissors to cut the rest of David's ruined t-shirt off.

"There you are my dear, keep your left arm resting there on the table, and I will help you up," she instructed. "I've drawn you a bath; remember that we need to keep the bandages clean and dry as much as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replied, standing carefully with her support. He had learned from the day they first met that the woman disapproved going to bed dirty if you didn't have to. His muddy socks and sneakers were already at the back door, and his brown cargo shorts had mud and blood on them. Richard came over to the table, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. He held out his hand to David.

"I'll see you first thing in the morning, _amigo_," he said as they shook hands, parting as old friends. "You're in very good care, truly."

David grinned, looking up at the tall Advisor. "Yes, sir. Thank you, Richard."

Richard leaned down to kiss the healer's cheek, murmuring something that the boy didn't quite catch, and with that, he left. Deborah smiled her thanks, walking slowly with David down the hall to his warm bath and comfortable bed.

-/-/-/-/-/-

When he woke in the middle of the night, warming as a fever began to spike, Deborah was there with a cooling touch and soft words of reassurance. She carefully set a tray on his nightstand, turning on the light at its lowest setting. A cool tropical breeze came in through the open bedroom window.

"I feel too hot," he told her, his voice scratchy and tired.

"I know, child," she replied, helping him to sit up and noticing the sweat on his brow. Deborah wiped his face with a damp washcloth and handed him a cup, encouraging him to take a sip.

He looked in it, hesitating, and grimaced a bit when he saw the amber liquid. "This isn't the yucky stuff, is it?"

She smiled, laughing sympathetically, arranging the small pillow on which his left arm rested. "No, dear one. This will help with the fever, and it's very sweet… I added honey and hibiscus. It will help you sleep better, too. It's one of your father's favorites, in fact."

David grinned at that, drinking the cooled tea quickly and obviously appreciating the delicate floral taste. His cheeks reddened slightly as the fever rose but the healer was unconcerned; this was a normal part of the healing process. She unwrapped the bandage to check the sutures, satisfied that the wound was clean and well covered with the antibiotic salve.

"Does it look okay?" asked David, his brow wrinkling in concern. He placed his empty cup on the tray.

"It looks like it will heal very, very well my dear," Deborah assured him, patting his leg. "Let me wrap your arm again and I can help you to the bathroom if you like." The cat and dog sauntered in while she was speaking, making their way up on the end of his bed. "Oh, and here are your night nurses arriving for the late shift."

David giggled. "Hi guys. I missed you today," he said, reaching over with his right hand to stroke their ears. Cat purred very loudly as he kneaded the bed with his front paws while Reggie just yawned, spun around twice and then curled up in his usual spot on the boy's blanket. "They're funny."

"I've always thought so too. There. How do you feel, child? Any pain or headache or anything?"

David shook his head. "No, ma'am, just sleepy again." He stifled a yawn with his right arm. "But I should go to the bathroom first." He grinned a bit self-consciously at her, but Deborah just smiled and helped him make his way down the hall and back.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The smell of breakfast wafted through the house and woke the boy, drawing him out of bed. As he pushed the sheet back, he noticed in passing that the cat and dog had already gotten up and out for the day. David yawned and scratched his head as the cobwebs cleared, unaware that his light auburn hair was sticking up on one side and he padded to the kitchen in his bare feet.

"Daddy! You're back," he exclaimed happily as he rushed over to the tanned, bald man working at the stove. John was clean-shaven, wearing his usual gleaming white t-shirt with green pajama pants.

Locke pushed the handle of the cast-iron griddle to one side, smiling broadly as his son, messy hair and all, practically leapt into his arms. "Hot pan, buddy. How are you doing, Mr. Sleepy head?" He tried unsuccessfully to flatten David's hair and stepped a safer distance away from the cook top, his big hand patting the boy's back. John felt tears prickling in his eyes at the enthusiastic welcome.

"I'm good," said David, squeezing his father's neck and then leaning back in his arms. "I got stitches yesterday, fourteen of 'em! See?"

"So I heard," Locke commented, setting the boy lightly on his feet and placing a kiss on his head. "Sounds like a lot, partner." He raised one eyebrow, a silent question.

David shrugged nonchalantly as he glanced down at the bandage. "I guess so. Deborah and I went to the swimming place and I fell on the way back to… where is she, Dad?" He looked around, realizing that the woman was not there in the kitchen with them.

John sipped from his coffee and flipped the kitchen towel back over his shoulder, reaching to turn off the burners. He put a finger to his lips. "Still sleeping," he whispered with a wink. "I got back really late last night."

The boy winced apologetically, stepping over to the table. "Oh, sorry Daddy," he whispered back. "She's a really good doctor, or nurse, or whatever, you know that?"

"Yes, sir. Best medicine on the Island, my boy," Locke agreed. He opened an upper cabinet, taking out a clean glass for his son. "How about chocolate milk this morning? My treat."

David laughed, surprised as he pulled out his chair and sat down. "We have chocolate milk? Where did that come from?"

"Well, about once a quarter… every three months or so, we get a food drop down to a spot south of here; we still call it the Swan station. There used to be a group called the Dharma Initiative that lived here, but they are all gone now. The company still sends food and a few other supplies. I did promise you could go with me to help out with the inventory, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. Do they have an office or something?" David drank about half of the tall glass of milk, leaving a mustache on his upper lip. He was about to wipe it on his bandaged left arm but he stopped himself in time and grabbed a napkin from the table instead. "Like a company headquarters or whatever you call it?"

"They must have," Locke answered, taking down three plates from the cupboard. "But I have no idea where it could be, son."

"Don't you ever wonder where they are?"

Locke chuckled as he filled David's plate with bacon and pancakes. "Probably shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Here you go, I hope you like banana pancakes. Syrup's already on the table."

"Yes, sir! I think I like these Dharma people too," David said, pointing at the box of pancake mix with his fork. "Wherever they are."

TBC?


	11. Chapter 11

"**Lost and found"**

A Lost fan-fic/significantly Alternate Universe (set mainly at the end of season 4 just after Ben Linus "moves" the Island; ignores much of Seasons 5 and 6 for now, but this may change when I finally get to watch these episodes)

A/N: John Locke-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Lost" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs "flash-forward-normal" from 2004 to the present.

Summary: Locke finds a young castaway on the beach. Who is this boy, and why does he seem so strangely familiar to John Locke?

Category: General/Family

Rating: T

**Chapter 11/?**

**Like a good neighbor**

"Whatcha' got there, Dave?" asked Locke as he stomped the wet grass from his boots at the edge of the back step. He hooked his thumb in the shoulder strap of his backpack, opening the screen door and letting David walk in under his outstretched arm. Once inside, John toed off his boots and left them on the rubber mat. He continued into the kitchen in his stocking feet.

"Hi Dad," the boy replied with a big smile, holding up the five-foot long stick. "It's a bo-staff. My friend just made it for me; he said he would teach me some cool karate moves when I get my stitches out." He leaned it carefully into the corner by the kitchen door, making sure it was out of the way and would not fall. David had very quickly gotten into the habit of leaving his sneakers outside on the front or back step, depending on which door he came in. He had even taken upon himself, without being asked, the chore of sweeping the doorways as a help to Deborah.

"Zach? That was really nice of him, he's a good kid," John said, hanging his backpack on a hook and taking out his two nearly empty water bottles to rinse them out and refill them at the sink. "I'd forgotten you said you finally met him the other day."

"Yes, I did. How long has he been here, Daddy?"

"I think Zach and his sister were on the plane with me, Oceanic 815, but in the tail section. So that was eight years ago." Locke left the pair of now-filled water bottles on the counter and then washed and dried his hands. "Is your ruck-sack ready to go, pal? Deborah wanted to check your arm and bandage before we left. I'm about to have a sandwich too. Want one?" He pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard and stepped over to the refrigerator.

David nodded vigorously at the prospect of something to eat; breakfast seemed like ages ago. "Please. I'll go get my stuff ready. Be right back!"

John had to chuckle to himself as he realized that David rarely seemed to care what was on his plate: it was food and that was all that mattered to the healthy, growing boy. He selected cold cuts, cheese and yellow mustard, shaking his head with amusement at the interesting combinations of supplies that often arrived in the Dharma Initiative quarterly food drops.

Deborah came into the kitchen, dusting off a light tan canvas shoulder bag. She smiled when she saw Locke standing at the counter, a picture of domesticity as he made sandwiches. "Coffee, sugar, salt and flour? That's it?"

John looked up sheepishly when he realized she was watching him, sucking mustard from his thumb. "That was the message from Rose. Richard visited them early last week. Maybe we can add some seeds or other gardening supplies?"

The woman opened a nearby cabinet, taking down five packets of herbal tea that she had blended and tucked them into her bag. "It just doesn't ever seem like very much for them, John," Deborah commented. "And I realize it's their preference to live simply." She wiped her hands on her apron.

"Honey, you know that Rose and Bernard can ask for anything they need," he assured her, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. She chuckled and reached up to brush her thumb along his chin. "He fishes with Vincent and she does wonders with their goats and chickens."

"They have goats and chickens? Really? I can't wait to see them." David left his full backpack by the kitchen door and sat at the table, his chair scraping lightly on the floor. "Do they have a farm at their house?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that," replied John as he set a plate down in front of the boy and then he pantomimed the lean-to structure with one hand against his forearm. "They built a nice little cabin up on the north shore, actually it started out as a big lean-to, and they live just a bit inland… far enough to get some protection from any storms that might come in off the ocean, and close enough for Bernard to fish if he wants."

"I like fishing too. What was his wife's name again, Daddy?"

"It's Rose and Bernard, and they have a big dog named Vincent. He's a yellow lab, I think." Locke came over to the table with his own plate, smiling at the mustard already smeared brightly on his son's cheeks; he also smiled at the memory of Vincent's previous owner, a young boy named Walt. Deborah brought them both glasses of orange juice.

"Thanks, Deb," he said, dropping a small handful of pretzel sticks on David's plate and then upon his own. "Before I forget, did you pack clean socks, buddy?"

David chewed and swallowed quickly, nodding his head. "Yes, sir." He leaned closer to whisper behind his hand: "_And_ _underwear_." Deborah hid a smile, concentrating instead on her cup of tea.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Excuse me, I gotta go see a man about a horse," David said, getting to his feet and heading around to the other side of the banyan tree. The three of them had stopped for a brief rest, drinking deeply from their water bottles. Of course, David also had a mango for a snack.

Locke snickered, wiping beads of sweat from the top of his head and then wiping his hand on his pants leg. "Where did you hear _that_ expression?"

David grinned broadly, pushing down one of the pins on the bandage that covered his left forearm. "Papa said that sometimes. He had a bunch of sayings like that." The boy blushed, laughing. "Especially for going to the bathroom."

John glanced over at Deborah whose shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter as she re-packed her satchel. "I'm sure there were some expressions he didn't want to say in front of you either. Don't go too far, partner. Alright?"

"I won't."

"David's grandfather sounds like he had a lively sense of humor," Deborah commented when the boy was out of earshot. "I would bet he had a bit of a playful streak too."

"Joe? Oh, that he did," replied Locke. "A bit salty as well, if you know what I mean, which makes sense as he was retired military." The woman nodded in understanding.

"Mary was much quieter, very soft-spoken, although I only met her once or twice. A calming influence for her husband," he added. He chuckled softly to himself. "And Helen was bold, just like her father. David reminds me a lot of her." John leaned over to kiss Deborah's cheek but she pulled him in closer, encouraging him to kiss her more properly. As they stood there in each other's arms, neither of them heard the boy's footsteps as he returned.

David cleared his throat quietly as he held up a handful of golf clubs he had found.

"Boy, that was quick," said John, stepping back, clearing his own throat and fighting down a smile. Deborah reddened a little as she straightened her blouse.

The boy shrugged, his eyes twinkling with good humor as he looked up at them. "I can go back and play in the jungle, Daddy, if you need more grown-up time with Miss Deborah." He laughed when Deborah swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"What have you come across now, young one?" she asked, curious as to the purpose of the strange looking metal rods.

"I think its golf sticks, they were stuck in some branches where I went to the head over there." He looked at the long handles, his brow wrinkling with concentration. "But I don't know what all of the letters and numbers mean."

Locke hefted his backpack up to his shoulders, adjusting the straps more comfortably across his chest (his was the most heavily laden with items for Rose and Bernard). "_Clubs_," he corrected gently. "Here, let's see what kind they are…"

The older man turned the club heads up, tilting his own to read the labels on each one the boy held for him. "Oh, 'Ping', that's supposed to be a really good brand. One wood, five-iron, nine-iron… kinda bent up though, and an 'S' for sand wedge."

"But this is metal, isn't it? What do you do with a one wood?"

"Sometimes it's called a 'driver'. I think you usually hit with that one first." John shrugged, giving a lop-sided smile.

"Oh, well that's a weird name for it anyway. Did you ever play golf, dad?" David leaned the clubs against the tree trunk, getting his backpack re-situated. He frowned again when he took up his bo-staff, puzzling over how to carry all of the items he'd collected.

"Not much really, I didn't get into regular golf but miniature golf was fun for birthday parties and stuff." John held out a hand, offering to carry one or two of the golf clubs.

"Do you think we can fix this one?"

Locke shook his head, scratching a bead of sweat and/or a mosquito from behind one ear. "Eh, don't think so. Maybe you could leave it here for Richard to find?"

David giggled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "He'd probably like that, wouldn't he?" The boy pushed the damaged nine-iron into the thick banyan branches, covering it with vines he pulled into place.

-/-/-/-/-/-

The trio stepped into a clearing and Locke immediately spotted Rose Nadler, sitting in what he was sure was a favorite spot, her eyes closed in meditation. When he had first met her after the crash, they were the only two survivors of Oceanic flight 815 who knew of (or at least suspected) the special healing powers of their Island: Locke no longer needed his wheelchair, and Rose no longer had cancer.

"Excuse me, lady, I think you're in my seat," said John, teasing. It was an old joke between them, dating back at least eight years.

Without opening her eyes, Rose smiled serenely at the sound of his familiar voice. "Well, sweetheart, I can move one over if you like; there's plenty of room out here if you wanna be on the aisle." She looked up, accepting both of his hands to help her rise from the roughly hewn palm tree log she was sitting on.

"Hello, Rose. How are you?" he asked when she leaned back in his warm embrace.

She stretched up and kissed his cheek, still smiling as she patted his muscular shoulder. "Very well, thank you. Bernard is out fishing, of course, but I expect he should be back anytime now. It's so good to see you, John."

Rose turned to Deborah and the women embraced affectionately. "And you too, honey; you're both looking well, lovebirds. I really do hope you have some good stories to catch me up on! The college and dental school adventures are getting repetitive out here, if you know what I mean." Her shining eyes belied her grumbling tone.

Deborah laughed in sympathy, giving her friend's elbow a squeeze. "Actually, yes. We have several rather good stories for you and Bernard."

"Rose, I'd like to introduce you to…" John began but then he stopped as he looked around, finding empty space. He chuckled, spotting David several yards away on his hands and knees next to the chicken coop, peeking in through the slats. Rose gestured in invitation, and the three adults started walking toward the fire ring. A pot of water steamed as it rested on the flat stones.

"The incredibly curious youngster over there is David," said John, shaking his head and beckoning when the boy looked up when he heard his name. David hopped to his feet and ran over, wiping sand from both hands as his backpack shifted precariously from side to side; at least the zipper was closed so nothing was falling out of it. His bo-staff and pair of golf clubs were leaning against a nearby shrub.

"Daddy, daddy! You won't believe it, there's baby chicks over there, a whole bunch of them! All fluffy and tiny ones!" The boy was practically dancing on his toes in his enthusiasm at his discovery.

Rose's eyebrows darted upward against her smooth mahogany skin, nearly reaching her floral patterned head wrap, and she gave John a look of wonder, mouthing silently _Daddy?_ She noted that the boy had a clean, bulky bandage on one arm but that it didn't seem to slow him down (and she was well aware of Deborah's considerable skill as a healer).

"Yes, I see some of them on the edge of the coop," he said, putting one hand on top of the boy's head, slowly turning him. "Rose, I'd like you to meet my son, David. Dave, this is our good friend, Rose."

David beamed up at Rose as he shook her hand. "Very nice to meet you, ma'am. How did you get seventeen baby chicks over there? Are they from the Island?"

"Um, well yes, my husband and I built a coop for the eggs we found up in the jungle, to keep them safe," she replied, her jaw still dropping in surprise but she appreciated how handsome and polite the youngster was.

Remembering her manners, Rose offered them each a seat at the fire and started gathering small wooden cups for tea. She looked from Deborah to Locke and back as the boy dropped his backpack with John's, and then stood leaning against the seated man's body. David's slender arm draped across John's neck and one of his fingers unconsciously tapped the soft cotton shirtsleeve.

In that flash of a moment, Rose saw what Deborah and Richard had seen when they recognized the father and son together. It was uncanny at how similar the two were in their appearance and even in their body language. She smiled inwardly when she observed that his tennis shoes were mismatched and that he wore cargo shorts merely one or two shades away from Locke's dark brown trousers.

"Welcome to our humble home, David," she told him as she poured hot water into four cups, thinking to herself that this really was going to be a wonderful story. "How old are you?" She sprinkled dried hibiscus flowers in each one.

"I'm six, no, almost seven. I'll be seven in May," he replied, brightening when she offered a platter of cookies. "May the fifth."

"_Seven_ huh? You'll be a tall drink of water when you grow up, just like your daddy here, I'm sure," said Rose, nodding in John's direction. "I didn't make these too terribly sweet but they are enough for Bernard. You've never seen such a sweet tooth in a grown man."

Deborah bit into a cookie, appreciating its light texture even more because she knew it was baked over a small campfire. "You have had some good luck with the bee hives this season, haven't you? This has honey in it."

"We did, finally. Got a few stings up and down my arms to show for it but I think the hives will work out up in the jungle thattaway," Rose said, waving one hand toward the mountainous tropical forest. "My husband got it into his head that he needed another project to work on," she added, chuckling softly. "Lucky we're not allergic."

John smiled in agreement, recalling that Bernard had always been a hard-working man on the Island, and interested in many things. He reached around and opened his backpack, laden with supplies for the couple.

"It doesn't ever seem like much, but we brought supplies for you, from the Dharma drop of course," he said, showing her the cans and packets he had carried.

"Thank you, John," Rose told him sincerely. "We can even work out a fair trade this time… goat cheese and honey."

David wrinkled his nose as he bit into a second cookie, stepping around the fire to sit on a large hunk of a palm tree. "Miss Rose, goat cheese doesn't sound right."

Rose laughed, gently squeezing the boy's nose between her fingers. "I am completely sure I can change your mind, darlin' when you taste it; we make our cheese from fresh goat's milk. And it's good for you." She winked at him. Deborah was pleased to see that David and Rose had quickly become friends; they both had open and kind temperaments.

David giggled but did not look very convinced. He was about to ask her a question about the goats when a large yellow dog came leaping along the shell-lined path; Vincent skidded to a halt, barking excitedly when he caught sight of the youngster. He approached Rose, whining softly but he skirted well around Locke and Deborah who were both unpacking their satchels and stacking the supplies that they had brought.

"And this is Vincent," she said rubbing her hand along his ear as he sat in the sand at her feet, looking up expectantly. "I know, I know, we haven't had visitors in a while, have we, sugar?" Rose and Bernard both typically included the intelligent animal in most of their conversations.

David was obviously enchanted, totally accepting that Vincent understood what was said, and he offered his hand to the big dog who licked it once before looking back up to Rose's face. "Meet David," she told him by way of an introduction. "You most certainly do know our friends John and Deborah over there, silly thing."

The dog barked again, seemingly in reply before he headed off into the nearby jungle. Moments later, Bernard stepped around a stand of coconut palm trees, carrying a stringer of eight medium-sized and brightly colored fish.

"Hello, honey I'm home! I thought I heard familiar voices," he called to John as he dropped the fish on a woven-bamboo table. Locke strode over from where he was unloading his backpack, and the two men shook hands and embraced roughly, laughing as they thumped each other on the back. Bernard then leaned down to kiss his wife's and Deborah's cheeks.

"Good to see you, Bernard," said John. "Rose here was just telling us that you needed some new stories around your campfire."

Bernard grinned, his teeth shining against the backdrop of his salt-and-pepper beard. "Sure, why not?" He transferred his freshly caught fish to a large basin filled with clean water. His eyes widened when David hopped up from where he'd been gathering canned goods and golf clubs that had fallen over under a bamboo table.

"_Dave_?!"

David gaped in surprise, recognizing Bernard as someone from his past, and then beamed at his father. "Hey! Hi, Dr. Nadler. Daddy, you already know my dentist from when I was a little kid in California? How cool is that?"

TBC

A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger. It was not intentional…


End file.
